


She dreams of Golden Hope

by LastShadowPuppet



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU (to some extents), Angst, Conflict, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Possessive!Thorin, Protective!Bilbo, Romance, age disparity, jealous!Thorin, slow-build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 02:48:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 79,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1181016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LastShadowPuppet/pseuds/LastShadowPuppet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We don't need your pity, girl," she heard his gruff voice state. She shook her head, and with a sad smile playing on her lips she whispered loud enough for him to hear: "It's not pity, Thorin Oakenshield. It's compassion." Thorin/OC</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

A sizzle and the smell of a recently-lit fire. He kindled the candle in his hands and immediately the darkness that had surrounded him, dispersed and a flickering illumination enlivened his hobbit hole. Guided by this small flame that threw dancing shadows on his earthy-brown walls, he moved toward his chest with intent and purpose. It was time. He had awoken this morning and to all intents and purposes it would have looked like it was a normal morning in Bilbo Baggins' household. He had awoken to the sun's light shining on his weathered cheeks and illuminating his silvery hair. He had awoken and he would have strained his ears to detect the sound of soft, dulcet humming and he would feel intense disappointment at perceiving the silence in his home. He would stand up with difficulty due to soreness in his back that seemed to have become a constant company to him for the past few months. He would think of his progressed age, of his senility with bitter amusement. Time had passed so quickly. Too quickly and it seemed as if it had only been yesterday when he had shakingly passed his fingers through untameable red curls and, with tears imparing his vision, had held a dainty hand that had been so cold. Colder than the air in Gollum's cave, colder than the winter that had come upon them when he had been a young, sensible man and that had taken almost everything from them. Bilbo closed his eyes as the memories came down upon him like an avalanche and the pain accompanied them smothered him. Bilbo's youth and strength had left him, but the memories had cruelly remained. The memories of the quest- of her.

Appearance-wise this morning had not been special. Bilbo Baggins had awoken and he had gone to his kitchen to cook breakfast and tea for himself and his nephew. The young hobbit lad had come in, prompted by the sweet smell of warm tea and the scent of warm bread. Uncle and nephew had sat down and enjoyed their meal and Frodo had questioned him about his adventures, for Bilbo Baggins was known for his unorthodox, daring spirit in the whole of the Shire. Bilbo Baggins, who had nothing of the conservative, burgeois manner of the Baggins folk, but had inherited his mother's Tookish streak. He was often looked down upon for his adventures, would often be described as foolhardy and admittedly slightly mad for leaving the comfort of his home to engage in pursues that were entirely galling and would make him late for dinner. Adventures, uncomfortable things that make you late for dinner, the Hobbits would say. This conservative perspective had prompted Bilbo from being regarded as the most sensible and responsible of young lads to an older man that was the topic of Hobbiton's gossip. Yet, while he was frowned upon by the adults, the hobbit infants seemed enamoured with him and his tales of bravery and courage. Tales that were so fantastical that they seemed to be fairy tales, but that according to the teller had indeed occured. Tales of glorious heros, of beatiful princesses, of the most fierce and breath-taking battles. Descriptions of the most magnificent locations. Stories that would prompt the young, impressionable Hobbit children to reenact the tales in the surrounding woods, shielded from their parent's disapproving eyes.

No, this morning had nothing out of the ordinary. He would sit with Frodo at breakfast and the kitchen would be brightly illuminated by the sun's light, that had filtered through the pane of the windows and the smell of freshly sprouting grass and roasted sausages would intersperse and fill the alcove, blanketing itself around Bilbo and Frodo. The idyllic quietude of the outside would infiltrate Bag End's kitchen, but it would also be accompanied by the sound of Bilbo relaying one of his many tales to Frodo and indulging the young lad's curiosity. He had told him all his adventures. All but one, for this one was too painful to relive.

It would seem to be a day as others. Yet, apperances were so deceiving, because when Bilbo Baggins had awoken this morning, when he had opened his eyes for the first time and his weary pupils had been hit with the early morning sun, an unprecented determination and euphoria had gripped him. Had caused him to recover some of his strength that had inhabited him during his youth. Had caused him to rise much quicker, propelled by this urge and certainty that it was now time. And it was this very same urge, that now had him moving through the unlit, winding corridors of Bag End, his only companion being the candle, that he held onto like a sacred beacon and the eary silence. His nephew had long ago retired and were Frodo to awaken, he would be quite disconcerted by the fact that his elderly uncle was still wandering the halls of their hobbit hole, like an unholy spirit. Like a ghost, that had not managed to find its peace, but seemed possessed. Possessed by the need to complete the task that had been trust upon it, in hopes of achieving liberation.

Bilbo quietly, but resolutely limped toward his chest and opened it. The first thing he saw was his sword, the sword he had acquired during his first adventure, during the quest that he both cherished and cursed, for he had gained so much, yet felt that the price he had to pay had been too high indeed. That what he had lost had been too great and what had acquired had been too slim in comparison. But he still felt the siren call of the sheathed blade, that he had kept in this chest and locked away. That had been a prisoner and was now urging Bilbo for its freedom. Bilbo withdrew his hand that had been unconsciously moving toward the blade and he reminded himself of what his task now was. He picked up his leathered case, that contained his parchment and moved toward his study. Kindled by the flickering light of the candle, he began to write and he wrote the whole night through. He wrote in hopes that he would be able to ensnare the painful memories that had tormented him for six decades now. Hoping that he would be able to trap his bane between the lines of his neat caligraphy, was able to imprison him behind the beige bars of the parchment. He wrote the story of his first adventure, the quest where he had helped the company of Thorin Oakenshield reclaim their lost home.

_Dear Frodo,_

_you asked me once if I had told you all there was to know of my… adventures. And while I can honestly say that I have told you the truth… I may not have told you all of it. I am old now Frodo, I am not the same Hobbit I once was._

He stopped writing for a second as the pain of his realization once more hit him. He looked at the portrait that he had cast aside bitterly, when he had opened his case. The portrait that showed him as a young lad, the portrait that had been painted of him just before he had gone to his coming-of-age feast. The feast that had celebrated the completion of his thirty-third year on Middle Earth. It had been a long time ago, and he could not recall the event clearly. He could recall details, like firey-red hair swirling in the air, as he danced with her. Her delighted laughter at his antics and the beaming nature of her smile. How she had awoken him early that morning by jumping on his bed and then when he had been lucid and prepared to admonish her, she had embraced him so lovingly, that his indignation had dissipated and transformed to indulgent amusement. He furrowed his grey brows and pushed the portrait aside. He needed to do this. He owed it to her, he owed it to himself.

_I think it is time for you to know what really happened. It began long ago. In a land far away to the east, the like of which you will not find in the world today. There was the city of Dale, its markets known far and wide, full of the bounties of fine and veil, peaceful and prosperous. For this city lay before the doors of the greatest kingdom of Middle Earth: Erebor. Stronghold of Thror: King under the Mountain. Mightiest of the dwarf lords. Thror ruled with utter sureity, never doubting his house would endure, for his line lay secure in the lives of his son and grandson._

Bilbo closed his eyes as the memories of Thorin and Erebor asailed him. Thorin with his majestic and invulnerable demeanour. Thorin that had been his leader and that Bilbo had grown loyal to. But it was not the memory of Thorin the king under the mountain that pained him. No it was the memory of Thorin, his leader, dare he say his friend? The memory of Thorin, the man she had… He shook his head, as if wanting to shake away his rumifications. He thought of Erebor, the vast fortress he could remember. The impenetrable stronghold, that had been so wealthy, that he upon his viewing had understood why the dwarves had longed to return and would have lost their lives for it. He could still remeber the luxurious constructions, the unending treasure, how the sophisticated and majestic aura it had exuded, had undermined the fact that this castle was buried deep within the mountain with no sunlight, no connection to the outside world and a lifeless, ominous atmosphere that as his stay progressed had begun to smother him, leading him to the conclusion that only Thorin's treasures could survive the dark and damp halls. He picked up his pen again and continued:

_Ah Frodo, Erebor! Built deep within the mountain itself, the beauty of this fortress-city was legend. Its wealth lay in the earth, in precious gems hewn from rocks and in great seams of gold running like rivers through stone. The skill of the dwarves was unequal, fashioning things of great beauty, out of diamond, emerald, ruby, and saphire. Ever they go deeper, down into the dark. And that is where they found it. The heart of the mountain: The Arkenstone. Thror named it the king's jewel and he took it as a sign, a sign that his right to rule was divine. All would pay homage to him, even the great elven king Thandruil. But the years of peace and plenty were not to last. Slowly the days turned sour and the watchful nights closed in. Thror's love of gold had grown too fierce. A sickness had begun to grow within him. It was a sickness of the mind, and where sickness thrives bad things will follow._

_The first they heard was a noise like a hurricane, coming down from the north. The pines on the mountain creaked and cracked in the hot, dry wind. He was a firedrake from the north. Smaug had come! Such want and death were dealt on that day, for the city of men was nothing to Smaug. His eye was set on another price. For dragons covet gold with a dark and fierce desire. Erebor was lost, for a dragon will guard his plunder for as long as he lives. Thandruil would not risk the life of his kin against the wrath of the dragon. No help came from the elves that day, or any day since. Robbed of their home, the dwarves of Erebor wandered the wilderness. A once-mighty people brought low. The young dwarf prince took work, where he could find it, labouring in the villages of men. But always he remembered the mountain smoke beneath the moon, trees like torches blazing bright, he had seen dragon fire in the sky and a city turned to ash. And he never forgave and he never forgot._


	2. Auguries of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Book 1: In a hole in the ground there lived two hobbits.

_"Too see a World in a Grain of Sand and a Heaven in a Wild Flower, Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand and Eternity in an hour." Auguries of Innocence- William Blake_

The sun was shining on her long, golden-blonde hair and she could distinctly hear the dulcet symphony of the melody of the early morning larks coupled with the discreet fluttering of butterfly wings, which in this part of Middle Earth were so beautiful and creatively composed. Not even in her homeland had she seen the extraordinary design on butterfly wings that she had first glimpsed in the Shire and that had become one of her favourite aspects about the place. She had been used to monochrome wings that were vibrant of colour, but other than that were quite common and contrasted with the otherworldly beauty of her childhood home. The butterflies there were either midnight blue, or rose red, and sometimes even daffodil yellow. When she had arrived in the Shire she had been enchanted by the elaborate design she had seen on the wings of the butterflies. The ostentatious adornment they flew with. Here the butterflies were not monochrome, but their wings were adorned with the most unusual patterns. Contrasted with the pine green background, you could see swirls of rich brown that reminded her of the colour of her husbands eyes. She looked at her surroundings and took no note of the beauty of this early spring morning. The sun was already shining bright in the sky and was illuminating the rolling meadows, which she rode past, in such a way that the soft green grass and the healthy, sprouting blossoms seemed to glow. She took no note of the sweet smell of spring flowers and the scent of hearty cooked food, the latter which seemed to grow in intensity as she approached her destination. She took no note of this smell, which she had always found comforting, which she had come to associate with home, that wafted through the warm air and encompassed her. She had always found joy in riding this way, because when she had done so firstly she had been accompanied by the expectation of being reunited with her love and then when she had finally been eternally bound to him, they would ride side by side to visit his sister and her dearest friend. Both of them would then be giddy in excitement, anticipating the joy of their visit, the warm reception of his sister and the delightful hours of divertment and pleasant conversation in the garden. Together they would then return to their own home and would eagerly await their next visit, while spending their time together and blissfully joyful. The journey she had undertaken had always been a source of joy to her and she would always perceive the beauty of the Shire and take delight in it.

Yet she did not do so now. Elauriel rode past the rolling downs, she rode past the landscape, which she had always found so beautiful in ist simplicity, but she kept her head down and took no note of it. She did not take note of the natural beauty, which she passed by and did not take her usual infantile delight in it. Then again she had not taken delight in many things, since… She closed her eyes and she did not dare to take the thought any further, because the pain and longing which the thoughts evoked cut through the haze of grief and agony that had blanketed her and which seemed to have become a part of her, as vital as an organ, as vital as he had been. While she had been growing up, everyone had commented on how beautiful Elauriel was. Beauty was not an uncommon thing in the elvish culture, indeed all members of their race had an appearance so handsome that it was almost painful to behold. With her long, flowing blonde hair and her silvery, shining grey eyes, Elauriel's features had not been uncommonly beautiful. Yet, what caused others to comment on her appearance was her constant happiness, which served to light up her features like a glorious beacon. Her bright smile that was almost a siren call to the male elves of Rivendell, the way her entire face was smilling, when her lips twisted into a grin, like how her eyes would crinkle at the sides and a small dimple would appear on her right cheek. In her century on this earth, Elauriel had always been described as joyful and content. Yet as she rode toward Bag End on this early morning, Elauriel could be described as anything but happy. The elvish woman was positively miserable and she did not shine like a bright star, as her friends in Rivendell had so often claimed. She seemed drab, her shiny blonde hair did not reflect the sun's light, but seemed dim in appearance, her eyes had lost that glim of excitement, which they had always sported and now the grey seemed ashen in appearance. And that is how she felt, she felt plain, and worst of all she did not feel the despair that seemed to have been ingrained in her since that fateful day, when she had excitedly exited the house at the sound of horse hooves, anticipating her husband's arrival, only to find that it was not him, but a man with a face as grim as death and an unruly appearance. She had begged for the despair, that had risen in her at the message that grim, bearded man had brought and which had tormented her for so long, to end and when it had, she had longed for it to return, because that perilous feeling had been like a remainder that she lived, but now she only felt numb and that foggy blanket that had descened upon her and dulled her perception and feeling was coupled with an excrutiation, sharp pain in her chest. Now that the despair had subsided, it felt like she no longer was living. And indeed she had given up. She had given up on everything, when her husband had brutally and cruelly been ripped from her.

Elauriel was shaked out of her self-pity by the feeling of a small, warm body wriggling in front of her, trying to become more comfortable on the horse that transported her. She looked down and the first thing she saw was a mass of untameable, impossibly vibrant red curls, that belonged to her child. She sighed silently and gathered her daughters curls together and bound them carefully, intent on not waking her young girl. And as she regarded her daughter's red hair, she once agin felt like a sharp knife had been twisted in her gut. This unwordly colour of red, that gleamed so brightly in the sun that it was almost blinding in its beauty reminded her of her husband's hair. His hair had been of the same colour and it had been one of the first things that had amazed Elauriel. One of the things that had fascinated her about him. She closed her eyes and tenderly ran her thin fingers through her daughter's soft curls and she remembered the day she had first met Benji Took.

* * *

She had been riding further away from Rivendell then she had ever gone. She had been upset at her father and had been trying to escape the reality that he would no longer tolerate her rejecting all the suitors that he had found suitable. He would no longer accept her misgivings and he had told her that she was too wild, that she did not comport herself like a lady of her standing should. He was determined to force Elauriel into a loveless marriage and he was willing to accept her misery in an eternity-long, unhappy marriage for the sake of his high-standing in elvish society. When her father had informed her of his impatience and had insisted on her speedy betrothal, Elauriel had felt like one of those princesses, who were given to a barbaric, cruel, avaricious king and who suffered silently. She had felt betrayed by her father, who had always indulged her in her infancy, but whose patience with her was now over. So she had saddled her horse and she had ridden out of Rivendell and for the past day she had been wandering aimlessly on her trusty stead. She knew that she was bound to return to Rivendell, there was nowhere else she could go, but she still continued riding further and further away from her childhood home and deeper and deeper into the forest she was now in, with its dense growth and its almost ominous appearance. She could sense her horse's exhaustion and decided to rest herself, since she too felt weary. So she had dismounted her horse and had sat upon a nearby log of a fallen tree and had stared off into the distance, pondering the unjoyful fate, which awaited her when she returned to her homeland. She had been ripped from her thoughts, when she heard a branch breaking beneath the foot of a person. The sharp sound had caused her to become alarmed and she had whirled around to face the certain menace, which now approached her, no doubt with nefarious intentions. She had been expecting a bandit, one of the members of the race of men, who pried on the riches and innocence of helpless young women as her. Perhaps it was an orc and as she remembered her father's description of the vile creatures, a shiver coursed down her spine. She did not want the distorted, foul visage of an orc to be the last thing she viewed before she died.

But what she saw when she turned around was not what she had expected. She did not see the leering, lustful sneer of an emaciated forest bandit, she did not see the scarred, marmour-like skin of an orc and its malicious, yellow-toothed grin. She saw a small, chubby man, whose surprise at what he saw reflected hers, if his startled facial expression was anything to go by. She scrutinized the man before her, he was much shorter than she was and his plump and stocky stature lead her to believe that he could not be of the race of men. Her suspicion was confirmed, when she saw his large, shoeless, hairy feet. Yet it was his face that had her fascinated for he had such a youthful and innocent appearance that she would have assumed him to be a child, where it not for the wisdom in his eyes and the smoking pipe he held clutched in his hands. She had been so engrossed by her study of him that she had forgotten the hazardous situation she was in, but her worry would have been wasted, because as she studied his warm, oaken-brown eyes she could detect nothing, but kindness and anemity within them. She was equally awe-struck when she saw the mass of red curls on his head. She had never seen such a vibrant shade of red, which seemed to gleam, eventhough the dense shrubbery of the forest only allowed minimal sunlight to shine upon them. „You're an elf." He said and he almost seemed in awe.

The spell their intense scrutiny had weaved upon them was broken and despite not feeling enimosity radiating oft he small man, Elauriel once more became aware of her situation and she quickly stood and made to move to her horse. Her movement had been so abrupt and quick, that she heard the man behind her scramble and once he had recovered his composure he said warmly: „You needn't worry for your safety. We hobbits are a peaceful folk. I won't hurt you, miss. I'll leave if you want me to." Elauriel felt herself grow warm at his tone and his words and disregarding any previous alarm she had felt, she turned to him and smiled at him beatifically. She saw his eyes widen, almost theatrically, at the tender look she was bestowing him and once more she felt affection for the small creature rise in her. She returned to the log she had been sitting on and fixed the little man with an expectant look in her eyes, that prompted him to join her. He approached her guardingly, as if she was a skittish animal, that he feared to frighten with any abrupt and hasty movement. When he reached the log and sat, they simply studied each other for a long time. She had heard about Hobbits or Halflings before, but she had never seen one and so she looked at the man before her with childlike curiosity and amazement. Now that he was closer, she could detect the lived wisdom in his eyes, which only served to further endear this man to her. She asked him for his name and questioned him about the colour of his hair. Amused at her amazement with his hair, he told her that his name was Benji Took and that he did not know from where he had gotten his hair from, as none of his relatives possessed the same shade but that he lived with it nonetheless.

As their conversation progressed they became more and more comfortable with each other and while Benji told her of his life in the Shire, she told him of the reason she had left Rivendell. He had seemed concerned for her and had offered her to stay with him and his sister in her husband's hobbit hole. She had felt tempted and slightly euphoric at the offer, wishing to spend more time with this Hobbit that interested her for reasons yet unbeknowst to her, but she did not wish to impose and made to decline his offer, justifying her rejection by her belief that she would only be a bother. He had laughed at her then and the deep, joyful sound of his laughter had caused her heart to beat faster and her cheeks to grow warm. Her breathing hitched when he put his warm hand upon hers and had looked her in the eyes and sincerely said: „You would never be a bother Elauriel. Not to my sister and most certainly not to me. We are both Tooks and as a result we are almost indecently adventurous, my sister would never forgive me if I did not introduce her to the only elf she will most likely ever see. Please, come with me." He had looked so sincere and beseeching, that Elauriel could not have refused him even if she wanted to. This was the moment she had fallen in love with Benji Took, though she would only realize that later.

* * *

The next years of her life was the most joyful she could remember. As predicted by Benji, she was warmly received by his sister Belladonna Took and even by her more conservative husband Bungo Baggins, who would have accepted anyone in his house, if his beloved wife wished for it. She befriended Belladonna and the two were like sisters. Elauriel having never had any siblings welcomed the companionship Belladonna provided her and the two grew almost inseperable. Though she did spend the majority of her time with Benji and the two of them would often ride out and more often than not they would go on adventures, riding far past Bree and into the world ahead. Each day Elauriel spent with Benji she grew to love him more and more. Benji experienced the same feelings as Elauriel and eventually he had gathered his courage and daring like a true Took, he had asked her to marry him. Their joy had been immense to find that their feelings were reciprocated and in the following spring Elauriel and Benji Took were married. The wedding was a subdued affair in Bag End's garden, which Elauriel had always adored due to the vast, healthy flora which could be found there. The flowers seemed to bloom even more happily under the tender care of Belladonna Took. So the hobbit and the elf were married surrounded by a sea of differently coloured petals and with only Belladonna, Bungo and their newborn son, Bilbo as witnesses of the event. The newly weds did not stay at Bag End, as Benji had soon procured a small cottage in the woods surrounding Bree. Benji had found work there, assisting the black smith, but he would always eagerly await the end of his working day so that he could return to his beautiful, beloved wife in their small cottage, that she had made home. Elauriel had loved the cottage, when Benji had first shown her it. It was made of light-brown wood and was located in the middle of a vast meadow, with fertile soil, so that similarly to Belladonna she could set up an idyllic garden. When her husband was away she would spend most of her time tending diligently to the vibrantly coloured petals, which seemed to thrive beneath her dedicated hands. Yet Benji and her would not be completely content remaining complacent at home for extended amounts of time. His Tookish streak was much too pronounced to remain at home for too long and she too was too wild and adventure-seeking to not go in the search of excitement. They spent several years in wedded bliss and their love did not fade with time, but became stronger and stronger.

Their joy at getting married almost paled in comparison at their happiness when they found out that Elauriel was awaiting a child, a product of their love. They had become more complacent and serene then, the excitement and anticipation in awaiting their offspring having replaced the thrill of adventure. In this time intervall, you would often find the couple sitting in Elauriel's garden, surrounded by sky-blue and purple, fragrant blossoms with both caressing Elauriel's growing belly, where their child, their joy was growing. Elauriel could clearly remember the night that her daughter had been born. The birth had been exhausting, but her weariness had dissipated, when she had held her little girl in her arms and had gazed upon her sleeping face and found her the most beautiful thing she had gazed upon. She had been so amazed at her daughter and had been so absorbed in her scrutiny of the little girl, that she had only perceived her approaching husband, when she had felt the bed she was lying upon dip down, due to his added weight and felt his calloused hands tenderly carresing her arms. She had looked up at him and smiled brightly seeing that the amazement and love she felt for her daughter was reflected in her husband's deep brown eyes and Benji, seeing his wife smiling at him lovingly and proudly, had kissed her forehead and with pride and gratefulness drenching his words he had said: „She is perfect." Elauriel had nodded her head and she knew that her child would grow up to be extraordinary. She would be beautiful and kind. As she sat with her little girl in her arms and could feel her warm body close to hers and she felt Benji's comforting presence beside her, her heart soared with love and joy and she whispered a blessing over her child: „You, my beautiful little girl, shall find the most beautiful and all-consuming love in this world. You shall love and be loved like no other." They had named her Laurel Arya Took and she had been the light of her parents' life. But the joy of this small family would not last for long.

* * *

Elauriel could remember every single word of the blessing that she had uttered over her child's head lovingly during Laurel's first hours in the world. She looked down at her sleeping daughter and she felt guilt coarse through her at the memory. She had thought it was a blessing. She had thought that by uttering those words, she would ensure her daughter's happiness, but now she knew that truly what she had done was to curse her daughter. She had ensured her a lifetime of pain with her unmeditated words. Foolishly, Elauriel had thought that love was the most joyful thing one could bestow on an individual, the greatest gift one could receive, but now she realized that love only brought pain and this ache was only made unbearable by contrasting it with the memories of utter bliss in her marriage. But it had not been enough. It would never be enough. A few years after Laurel's birth, Benji had become restless once more. His Tookish Streak had propelled him to leave with a few tradesmen in search of an adventure. Elauriel would have gone with him, but she had felt compelled to remain behind and care for Laurel. The morning of his departure she had tearfully bid him goodbye and he had been tenderly amused at her tears and he had told her that he would return to her and their daughter soon. Elauriel could now see that her tears had been caused by premonition, by her growing knowledge that something would happen to the love of her life. As he had ridden away, his shoulders stiff in excitement on his trotting pony, Elauriel had stood almost paralyzed by fear, but she had resisted calling out and begging her husband to return. She had attributed her ill-feeling to the fact that this would be the first time that she and her spouse would be separated for an extended time intervall. Now she knew better and she cursed herself.

Benji had been away for three month and she had eagerly anticipated his return. Laurel was a consolation and she prevented Elauriel from feeling utterly alone and isolated. She would enjoy sitting in her garden and watching her beautiful, young girl chasing after butterflies and she would enjoy brushing Laurel's wild, red curls that she had inherited from her father and adorning them with yellow buttercups, which looked immensely handsome in her child's hair. Yet, she missed her husband and she felt shame at the knowledge that her child's company was not enough for her. So she eagerly awaited her husband's return, she would spend hours gazing out the window, up the road, longing to see her husband's stocky, plump form appear in the distance. When she was in the garden with Laurel, she would listen intently to the sound of approaching horse hooves. She was on edge anticipating his arrival and then one morning, while Laurel was lying in the grass and her delicate features were illuminated by the sun, Elauriel heard the long-awaited sound of horse hooves and she ran ecstatically to receive her husband. Yet, like her first meeting with Benji, the image that met her was not what she had expected. Before her stood one of her husband's travelling companions. He looked grim and worn and she had longed for her husband's soft and youtful face to appear before her. He had proceeded to tell her that Benji had been fatally wounded during a bandit's raid on their camp and that he would not return. At the man's confession, Elauriel had felt her heart being torn out of her body and that is when the darkness of grief had descended upon her. She could not remember the first few days after the discovery, she could recall only recall fragments of this time period. How she had laid on her bed in a catatonic state and how she had disregarded her child's soft, beseeching and worried voice, as she called for her mother on the other side of the locked door. She could remember how relief had lit up Laurel's features, when she had finally left the room, but she had disregarded her daughter. Now that Benji was dead and she was in mourning, she no longer felt love for her daughter, but only cold indifference. Truly she felt indifferent about everything and she remembered spending the days sitting infront of her window, hoping that it had only been a cruel dream and that her husband's familiar form would appear in the distance and he would be illuminated by the sun behind him, having the illusion of a halo around him. But he never came back and eventually cruel reality had dawned on Elauriel and that is when she had lost the will to live.

Pain at her behaviour only rose at the fact of how Laurel had suffered at her indifference. Elauriel had completely disregarded her child for the past two summers, selfishly only focusing on her own pain. Yesterday she had first gazed at her child properly for the first time, since she had gotten the news that her beloved husband had died. And what she had seen had shook her. Laurel had grown. Her hair now cascaded down her back in sea of savage, rose red curls and her features were now more delicate, and her skin the colour of creamy snow and a texture that reminded her of peaches and cream. She had grown up, and though she was still a little girl she seemed so different to Elauriel, like she was seeing her daughter for the first time. She had seen her daughter sitting on the grass, her sky-blue eyes trained at the sky above and Elauriel had been surprised at seeing how beautiful her daughter already was. But more disconcerted she had been at the sadness she had seen in her child's eyes. The listlessness that Laurel had no doubt adopted from her mother. And that is when she realized the pain that she was causing her daughter and once more she felt a sharp stab of pain and guilt had coursed through her like the coldest water in Middle Earth. But Elauriel was too far gone, she was fading and nothing could bring her back. So that is how she decided to saddle her horse and ride toward Bag End, the place where her happiness had started and where she hoped Laurel would find equal joy.

* * *

She was sitting before Belladonna Took and the buxom, motherly woman was fixing her with an intent, questioning gaze. Elauriel did not dare to meet it, because she knew that once she had told Belladonna the reason of her visit and had confessed her behaviour caused by her grief, the care and concern in the woman's deep brown eyes, that were so reminiscent of Benji's that it pained Elauriel, would turn to disappointment. She did not dare to meet the gaze of this woman who, before grief and misery had blanketed her, she had considered her dearest friend, for fear of what she would find. She looked down at her hand and she again wondered at the ashen quality of her skin. She had not cared for her appearance in the past few years, she had not minded what she looked like, but when Belladonna had come out of Bag End and her joyous, motherly smile had fallen upon gazing at Elauriel, she had realized how weathered and broken down she must appear. The buxom, warm hobbit woman had adopted a motherly air and after greeting her and Laurel warmly she had ushered them into Bag End, where now only her and her son Bilbo lived, after Bungo's death three summers ago. She had gazed upon Belladonna and she had been surprised that the hobbit woman still looked similar to the way she had last seen her look. She did not seem wrecked by her grief for her dead husband. No, Belladonna Took was healthy and prosperous as ever and it again caused Elauriel shame at her weakness and trepidation to look at her friend. Belladonna was perceptive to a fault and she had gathered that Elauriel wished to talk with her in private, so she had prompted her son Bilbo, who was only a decade older than Laurel to show her his maps. The youthful, plump hobbit lad had seemed amazed at Laurel and he had enthusiastically, yet slightly timidly fulfilled his mother's demand and had led the trepidated red-haired girl by the hand deeper into the hobbit hole. Elauriel had not looked at her, even when she had felt the little girl's gaze on her like the warmth of the sun that had been on her skin during the ride.

She felt Belladonna's warm hands encompassing her own cold ones and she raised her gaze, so that she was staring at the woman's lips, but not at her eyes. Not at those Tookish eyes full of mischief, that had always gazed upon her in kindness, but would now become ugly with disappointment. Through her haze she heard the woman's warm, smoky voice: „What's wrong, my dear?" Elauriel closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, and then set off into a confession: „I am dying, Bella. I have been fading since Benji died and I am tired of living, living without him, but with this pain as his replacement. I am dying." „But what about Laurel? You can't leave her. You need to be strong, Ela. I know you loved Benji, but it would have pained him to see you like this. It would pained him if you would have left his daughter." She felt tears well up, but she pursed her mouth and urged them down. She would not cry, Belladonna already thought her too weak as it was. „I have lost the will to live and nothing will stop me from fading, Bella. I rue leaving Laurel, but I am just so tired. For the sake of your brother and our friendship, I would ask you to take her in and care for her. You shall do better raising her, than I ever would have." She saw the corner's of Belladonna's lips turn down in sadness. For a long moment neither said anything, but then Belladonna's grip on her hand tightened slightly in an appeasing gesture and her voice broke the silence: „I do not condone you leaving the girl, but I shall take her in and care for her as if she was my own." Due to her words and the silent comfort, the woman exuded, Elauriel allowed the tears that had been flwoing in her eyes to fall and she cried silently and brokenly in Belladonna's kitchen. She cried for the grief she'd had to endure, she cried for the fate that had befallen her husband and she cried for her cruelty toward her child. But most of all she cried out of relief.

She had mounted her horse and she was riding away from Bag End, when suddenly she heard the frantic discord of soft footsteps running. She closed her eyes, as she realized who was responsible for this frantic symphony. She had hoped to leave before Laurel could see her, she had hoped that her little girl would be so engrossed in her dealings with her cousin and new friend that she could have left undetected and spared them the pain of farewell. But Elauriel did not ride back, she feared that seeing her child's distressed demeanour and melancholy would cause her grief to intensify and would kill her instantenously. So she rode on and she did not turn around. She did not turn around, when she heard the soft voice of her daughter calling out to her. She did not turn around, when she heard Belladonna gather the little girl in her motherly embrace to stop her from running after Elauriel. She did not turn around, when she heard her child's voice rise with distress and cry: „Let me go Aunt Bella, mommy is leaving. I have to go with her." She did not stop when she heard her child's voice drenched with pain and agony at her abandonment calling out to her: „Mommy! Please, mommy, don't leave! I promise I'll behave. Don't go, mommy, please!" She did not turn around and simply rode away from Laurel and toward death. Away from her child and closer to her husband's waiting arms.


	3. Rise

„Just like moons and like suns, With the certainty of tides, Just like hopes springing high, Still I'll rise." Still I rise- Maya Angelou

Belladonna Took had her pointy ears trained on the dark wood of the door and she intently listened in hopes of detecting any noise. But she was to be disappointed, because all she was met with was silence. Ominous, eery silence that left her feeling incredibly worried and desolate. It should not have surprised Belladonna, she should not have been disheartened, because this had become almost a routine, she should have anticipated that while standing outside of Laurel's room, listening at the door for any signs of life from the girl would have again proved without bounty as it had the previous two months, since Elauriel had arrived at Bag End and shortly after had left the hobbit hole, leaving behind her young daughter. Abandoning the young girl, that had been in distress when she had seen her mother riding off, undetered by her frantic pleas. The girl had cried desparately and she had called for her mother, that had only had indifference to spare for her in favour of her own grief. She had cried for hours on end, like a young child missing their mother's warm embrace would have and Belladonna had tried to motherly tend to her, and for a short moment she had been relieved, when the girl had stopped crying. She had thought that the motherly affection she was steadfastly determined to show the girl had consoled the little red-haired infant.

But soon a new gnawing worry had gripped the warm heart of Belladonna Took, when the girl had become almost catatonic. When the girl had become unresponsive to her and Bilbo and had proceeded to remain in her room, like she had locked herself away in a personal, comforting prison. Like she had retreated like a beautiful butterfly back into her cockoon. And she was. The girl was truly lovely, even at such a young age and Belladonna could see that she would grow up to be a stunning young woman, but she was so sad. When Belladonna had entered the room this morning to bring her a cup of tea and some breakfast she had gazed upon the girl, that was lying inanimately on her bed and she had seen the mournful look in her sky-blue eyes and her sadness had broken Belladonna's heart. Her catatonic melancholy caused her immense grief and worry and more often than not Belladonna would find herself awake during the late hours of night, in fear that the girl would fade just like her mother had. But she was appeased, because despite her sadness the girl still seemed alive. She did not have the ashen and deathly palor that she had seen in Elauriel during their last meeting. Despite the heavy grief she could see in the girl's eyes, she also saw a gleam of life, like her body had still not given up and she hoped that she would not. That she would be able to recover from the death of her mother before she reached a point of no-return. She would never be able to forgive herself if the girl died of a broken heart under her care. She would forever feel guilt at having failed her brother and her dear friend, eventhough at the moment she could only spare resentment toward the elvish woman. Resentment that she had left her daughter and had caused the little girl so much pain.

But perhaps it was for the best. Elauriel would never have recovered from her grief at Benji's death and she would have proceeded to treat the girl coldly. At least, Laurel was still young and still had a good portion of infancy before her. If she was shown loving care, perhaps her infancy would not be marked by her mother's self-destructive mourning. Belladonna was intent on showing the young half-elf all the kindness her heart could muster and she was obstinately decided to love the girl as her own. And she had already started, she already saw Laurel as part of her family, as a child of her own that she would care for with dedication. And with this intent, she would not allow Laurel to fade. But she did not know how she would get the little girl's spirit back. She had not risen from her bed and she lay like a lifeless doll on the matress with a far away look in her eyes. The girl had barely eaten and at seeing her self-destructive behaviour, Belladonna's heart constricted painfully.

She was shaken out of her thoughts by the soft voice of her son: „Mother, how is he?" Belladonna righted herself and flattened her brown skirt and white apron with her pudgy hands. She tried to ban the saddened and worried look she no doubt had in her eyes and with a forced, motherly smile she turned around and looked at Bilbo's worried face. She felt affection for her son rise within her and she sympathized with his unhappiness at seeing his cousin's sadness. She knew that her son had taken an instant liking to his red-haired kin, she had seen the slight look of amazement in her son's demeanour, when he had regarded her delicate features and she had sensed her son's urge to befriend the girl. She knew that Bilbo was pained at her catatonic indifference to him. He had tried to cheer her up during her first week in Bag End. He had paid special attentions to her and had shown her his books filled with the most adventurous tales and had shown her his skillfully drawn pieces. But the girl had not responded to the interactions, which Bilbo had tried to almost thrust upon her. Seeing that the boy became increasingly offended and hurt by her indifference, Belladonna had taken her son aside and had told him that he would need to let Laurel be for a short amount of time. That the girl was tired and that she needed to rest, before they could play together. Her son had proved an immense amount of maturity, when he had complied to her wishes, but the increased distance between Laurel and Bilbo had not stopped her son from worrying about his cousin's mourning. She looked at her son's wide blue eyes, and his furrowed brows that conveyed his uneasiness and she smiled at him, as if she too wasn't sick with fear at the fate of the little girl that had already endeared herself to the pair of them. „She is fine, my dear. She is still tired and needs to rest. She shall be up and about soon.", she said with a thick voice and she knew that she was not convincing her son, who was looking sceptically at the door behind her. She moved toward her son and his gaze was drawn to her, as he looked up at her through his thick, golden lashes. She crouched down, so she was eye-to-eye with her little boy and she passed a nurturing hand through his golden curls. He smiled at her unsurely and she led him off into the kitchen, where she would attempt to console him with some late afternoon tea. At her son's tight grip on her hands, she knew he was trying to believe the words that Belladonna had uttered in response to his question. She also hoped fervently, willing the words to prove true.

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With a beatific smile, she studied her son as he eagerly bit into the pastry that she had baked this morning. Bilbo indulged in the freshly baked treat and he had a rim of dark-brown chocolate around his mouth and he was holding onto his cup of tea resolutely, like he was holding onto a precious treasure. She felt joy at seeing her son's carefreeness and delight at the meal. He greedily drank down the light brown liquid and then after having eaten his third chocolate bun, he leaned back contently and rubbed his belly through his beige waistcoat. Belladonna felt amusement rise within her at the antics of her son. It reminded her of her late husband Bungo. After his death, it had pained her to think of the man she had loved. The man, who had been a constant, faithful companion to her for five decades. She had been desolate after the passing of her husband and she had felt heartsick, that her love had left her behind. But she'd had Bilbo and he had soothed the pain she had felt at Bungo's death. Her son had suffered at his father's death. He had always admired his wise, kind father and the two oft hem had bonded over their shared skill at drawing and Belladonna knew that Bilbo still longed for the evenings father and son sat infront of the fireplace and Bungo would read one of Bilbo's favourite tales of adventure to him. She knew that the death of his father had deeply wounded Bilbo, but together mother and son had managed to recover from their grief at this tragedy and now as Belladonna remembered her husband, she did not feel the acute stab of pain in her heart that she had felt shortly after his death. No, now she felt fondness and longing for the conservative Baggins, that had loved her despite her daring and unruly spirit and whom she had equally loved with all her heart, despite his more complacent and uptight behaviour. She remembered with fondness the first time they had met in the solstice festival, when they had both been hobbits in their tweens and he had asked her to dance. She had been surprised that this handsome young lad had wanted her company, especially as she knew that he was a Baggins of Bag End and thus due to his disciplined upbringing was bound to look down upon her for her unorthodox, Tookish streak. What a great shock it had been to all, when Belladonna and Bungo had fallen in love. What a great shock it had been, when they had gotten married and had lived together happily in wedded bliss. Of course they'd had arguments, their upbringing had been far too different, but they still had still loved each other and held onto the wish of spending their lives together. They'd had to compromise of course. After Bilbo's birth, Belladonna had become more complacent and had urged down her Tookish streak. She no longer went on adventures with her brother. She no longer saddled her pony, which she had long sold off to a farmer so that she could buy a new stove. But she could also recognize that her husband had been quite accepting of her wild spirit, especially when she thought of the stiff-nosed women, that the previous generations of Baggins men had wed. She prided herself thinking that perhaps she had passed some of her love for adventure to Bungo, especially when she saw how indulgent he was, when Bilbo had started to show the same inclination as her and had become fascinated with tales of adventures and had spent his time in the forest searching for elves, or reenacting the tales his father relayed to him the previous night.

As she thought of her husband and the time they had spent together as a family, she felt a yearning that she knew would accompany her until the day she died and was reunited with Bungo. She missed him, but she was at peace with his death. She had never felt the excrutiating and destructive pain that she had seen Elauriel suffer from after her Benji had died. Not for the first time, she questioned if perhaps elves did not feel emotions more acutely than other races. She had questioned Elauriel once how love was for elves and the blonde woman had indulgingly explained to her, that elves only loved once in their immortal lives and that they love so all-consumingly and deeply and that the loss of a loved one could often cause such a devastating pain, that many faded from grief. She had been surprised at this revelation and had compared this to the perception of love of other races. She knew that Hobbits and men were capable to fall in love more than once in their lifetime and that widowed individuals often remarried, if they fell in love another time. She had heard from some acquaintances in Bree, that dwarves' love was similar to elves. They also loved only one person in their lifetime, but the death of their love had never caused them to die, as far as she knew.

Perhaps elves loved so deeply, because they were bound to spend an eternity on Middle Earth and they would never age and die from old age. Perhaps they felt so acutely, because after having spent so much time on earth, their lives were bound to become monotonous and so when they fell in love the excitement and thrill was so intoxicating and invigorating in its novelty, that the elves would hold onto this feeling and would develop an all-consuming love and then at having lost this source of delight, they would fade not having the will to go on in this world without their love by their side. She remembered the intensity of Elauriel's feelings for Benji. How early in their acquaintance the blonde elf had looked upon her brother and Belladonna had been able to distinctly make out the affection in the girl's silvery grey eyes. How the intensity of Elauriel's feelings had been like an avalanche burying Benji and he'd had no choice, but to reciprocate the woman's feelings with the same honest intensity. Oh how they had loved each other and their bond had shocked the hobbits of the Shire even more, than Belladonna and Bungo's relationship had. She could distinctly remember how their mother had gazed up at Elauriel, her deep brown eyes wide in shock and awe and the elderly, matriarchal head of the Took clan had fingered her grey hair nervously, as she stood before the majestic elf. Their relationship had been accepted by the Took family, eventhough some had found the match quite strange indeed. Yet some of the citizens of Hobbiton had not been as accepting. Their bond had been the subject of some malicious gossiping and tittering for a long time, but both Benji and Elauriel had not been detered and they had consumated their love by getting married. But then her brother had died and had taken Elauriel's will to live with him. And they had abandoned their young child to deal with the pain at their abandonment of her.

She wondered if Laurel felt as acutely as elves seemed to do, or if she similarly to Hobbits was more tranquil with her emotions. Yet Belladonna suspected that Laurel had taken after her mother. She was already so similar to Elauriel and she feared that when Laurel fell in love it would be similarly intense and all-consuming as her mother's romance had gone. That is if Laurel even fell in love, because she doubted that the girl would be able to go on much longer, if she kept herself locked away in her room, grieving deeply for her mother.

Yet what she saw next made her heart soar with hope and caused a bright, affectionate smile to twist her weathered lips. She was shaken out of her reverie, when she heard the soft creaking of her wooden floorboards, announcing the wandering of an individual. Since both she and Bilbo were sat at the table and had not moved after their satisfying meal, she could only reach one conclusion and this caused her to snap her head toward the source of the sound. She saw the little girl that had been the object of her recent thoughts, standing in the middle of the archway to the kitchen. The girl looked slightly nervous and she was wringing her little hands in trepidated agitation and was biting her full, rosy bottom lip. She looked up through her lashes at Belladonna and it again hit the hobbit woman, how enchanting this little girl was. The girl had come out of her room, probably prompted by the mouth-watering smell of the pastry she had baked this morning, which's scent still hung temptingly in the air. Belladonna felt relief at the girl's appearance, she still looked heartbreakingly sad, but she could not help but think and hope that her appearance was a start in her recovery. That the girl would be strong enough to recover from the grief her parents' death had caused her. She could sense the girl's shyness and with motherly affection already coursing through her veins, she called out: „Laurel, my dear. Do you wish to join me and Bilbo? You need not be shy, sweetheart." The girl then raised her gaze to her and stared at her with her cornflower blue eyes wide and unblinking. She could see the conflict in the child's eyes, her obvious skittishness and Belladonna silently prompted her to come to them, to join them.

Greatest was her joy, when the little girl lowered her gaze to the floor, but nonetheless approached them slowly, but determinedly. Belladonna simply kept observing the girl moving toward her, but she did not rush her, she knew that it was important for Laurel to come to her out of free-will and to not be forced to seek her out. She smiled down as the girl came to a stop before her and she looked at the girl's bowed head. Laurel seemed intent on keeping her gaze on the flower and her facial features were shielded as her red curls fell over her head and curtained her face, hid her features. She had been standing there quietly, not making a move for a long time and Belladonna decide, that she could now approach her. So as affectionately, as she could she scooped the little girl into an embrace and set her down on her warm lap. For a few seconds, Belladonna felt as if the girl's body was made of the most unyielding stone, for she had stiffened so greatly, when Belladonna had scooped her up into her lap in a motherly gesture and Belladonna questioned with compassion how long this girl had been deprived of tenderness and caring. Then after a few seconds of loaded silence, she felt the girl's body soften and become more comfortable on her lap. She smiled and took one of the remaining pastries off the plate and handed it to Laurel. The girl started to eat the chocolate sweet ravenously and Belladonna chuckled at her infantile antics, which she had longed to see in Laurel. She passed her chubby fingers through the girl's soft red curls and simply offered her silent, warm comfort. She looked up, when she heard Bilbo scrambling to get up and hurriedly leaving the kitchen. She furrowed her slightly greying brows in confusion to her son's reaction, and looked at Laurel to see her response. But the red-haired little girl was so engrossed in eating the succulent pastry, that she had not paid attention to Bilbo's exit.

Her son soon returned and grasped in his hand was a purple blossom, that she recognized as one of the sweet peas that she had planted at the start of the spring season. She would have normally admonished Bilbo for taking a flower from her carefully tended-to garden, but she recognized his act of affection and she could not have mustered any chagrin, even if she wanted to, even if she had not been immensely proud at her son's benevolence. The scene before her was too amusing and sweet in nature, so that she could only feel warmth and not indignation as she looked at her young son, who stood with his head bowed in timidness and was holding onto the blossom and then how he quickly thrust the flower toward the girl and urged her to take it. She twisted her head to look at Laurel's reaction and she resisted the urge to laugh in delight, as she saw the girl's wide-eyed gaze at her cousin and her mouth was smeared with chocolate and was agape in surprise. Laurel tenderly took the blossom from her cousin's hand and she lifted the flower carefully and smelt ist sweet fragrance. As the smell hit her, she closed her eyes and adopted a relaxed facial expression. After a few seconds, she then opened her eyes once more and looked at Bilbo and said in a soft, thin voice: „Thank you. It's very pretty." She saw how her son's cheeks brightened into a shade of red that almost matched Laurel's hair and she heard him mutter loud enough so that they would overhear it: „Not as pretty as you." She could not help herself and she chuckled lovingly at that. She felt Laurel slipping off her lap and smiling at Bilbo waterly, before she embraced him and lay her head on his chest. At the display of the sad little girl gratefully embracing her cousin and he at first responding with awkwardness, but then reciprocating her hug, Belladonna felt warmth in her chest and she felt relief. Perhaps Laurel growing up at Bag End would not only be of advantage to her, but could also benefit Bilbo. The little Hobbit Lad did not have many friends, due to his exceedingly adventurous spirit, which frightened the other hobbit children's parents and left them feeling reluctant to allow their children to play with Bilbo. She truly hoped that a beautiful and sincere friendship would bloom between her two charges and that they would both support each other and be unquestionably loyal to the other.

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And Belladonna's predictions and hopes did indeed come true. In a matter of days, Laurel Took and Bilbo Baggins were inseperable. They would do everything together and where one was, you knew the other was not far behind. Belladonna sometimes felt that they were one heart and soul and she viewed their friendship as a divine blessing. With Bilbo's unwavering company and caring nature, Laurel soon recovered of her grief caused by her mother and Bilbo was no longer a solemn, withdrawn child, but due to Laurel's increasingly fiery behaviour and headstrong, daring demeanour he became more outgoing. He would indulge Laurel and go off with her into the woods surounding Hobbiton in search for dwarves and other foreign, magical creatures. But Laurel would also accept when her cousin's more complacent Baggins side surfaced. Then she would lie on her belly in Belladonna's garden and would patiently and contently watch as Bilbo drew his maps or told her of tales that were too magnificent to even imagine. He would tell her of Rivendell, he would tell her of Gondor and the race of men. He would tell her of wizards and elves and of princesses and Laurel would listen to her cousin's narrative with undiluted awe. Belladonna would watch them and she would feel grateful for the love, that had developed between them. For how Bilbo had become a brother to Laurel and how she had become his sister. She could still at times detect traces of the sadness that had haunted Laurel's first decade on Middle Earth. Belladonna could still detect ever-present traces of sadness in Laurel's sky-blue eyes and her charge's melancholic demeanour could be seen more often than not and Laurel would always seek comfort in physical gestures. She would often hug Belladonna, when she was cooking in her kitchen and she would always be at Bilbo's side and she would tenderly embrace her cousin.

Bilbo would indulge her and Belladonna could see that he valued Laurel above all other things. They grew up together side by side and their friendship deepened and they would never been seen one without the other. It did not matter that the hobbit children were still wary of Bilbo, it did not matter that they found Laurel strange, because of her different looks. They had each other and that was enough for them. In the festivals at Hobbiton, they would dance together and Laurel would laugh in delight as Bilbo would spin her around. Whenever Bilbo felt inclined to a prank, Laurel would faithfully follow him and help him burgle the kerchief of the old Baggins, who required of this textile so frequently due to his constantly runny nose. Despite her amusement, she would admonish her children, but she would marvel at their burgling skill. They would sit side by side and would watch Gandalf, the Wizard's glorious display of fireworks with amazement.

They grew up side by side and Bilbo became more complacent and he turned out to be a sensible, responsible young hobbit lad that was more Baggins than Tookish, to his mother's disappointment. Laurel grew up to be, as Belladonna had expected, a beautiful young woman with vibrantly red, curly hair and features that were delicate and almost too beautiful to behold. She was a kind and congenial young woman, with a fiery spirit, but she too became more complacent, as her time living in Hobbiton among the comfortable inhabitants oft he Shire progressed. One thing that did not change, however, was Bilbo and Laurel's fierce friendship and Bilbo would protect her from any hobbit lads, who could not take no as an answer and pursued Laurel. She would care for him and Belladonna, when household tasks began to be too exhausting for the older hobbit woman. In the early mornings you would often find Laurel preparing breakfast in the kitchen and baking sweet pastries, humming a simple, slightly sad tune. She would spend her days taking care of Bag End and either conversing with Belladonna or sitting beside Bilbo, while he smoked his pipe and looking out at the rolling hills oft he Shire. Laurel Took had become a member of the Baggins' household and in Bag End she had found contentment.


	4. Dreams

_"Hold fast to dreams for if dreams die, life is a broken-winged bird that cannot fly. Hold fast to dreams for when dreams go life is a barren field, frozen with snow." Dreams, Langston Hughes_

She felt at peace. Contentment filled her, as the sun's light filtered through the window pane and warmed her weathered, wrinkly skin and illuminated her golden curls, that were slowly turning the colour of grey ash. The smell of roasting apples infiltrated her nostrils and coupled with the buttery scent of pie crust, the scent caused Belladonna to smile proudly. It was a warm, summer day and the sun was at ist highest peak in the sky, with it being midday. The comfortable silence that had blanketed Bag End's kitchen was broken by soft, dulcet humming and Belladonna Took looked up from her calculations and smiled affectionately at the back of the girl, who had become a daughter to her and who was working diligently to prepare lunch before Bilbo arrived home from the market. Twenty-two summers had passed, since the day that Elauriel had come to Bag End and had left Laurel as her charge. A day that should have been rued for the misery it had brought and the sadness it had caused young Laurel, but which Belladonna could not help but think of fondly. For from this day onward she had been gifted with Laurel, who she had grown to love like her own daughter. And she knew Laurel was content. She knew that the young half-elf now also viewed this day as a blessing, for she had been delivered to her new family, that had loved her and cared for her. It had not only been a blessing for Laurel, who had from this day on been gifted with a nurturing childhood, but it had also been a blessing for both Bilbo and Belladonna, for they had received a loving and caring companion, who was kind and loyal to a fault and insisted on taking arduous effort to take care of them. Sometimes Belladonna feared that Laurel did this to prove her worth, that she feared Belladonna and Bilbo would throw her out and shun her, if she did not care for them with complete and utter dedication. She had talked to Laurel about her suspicion and the young girl had looked down guiltly, and Belladonna'd had her suspicions confirmed. She had told the girl that she was loved and that she need not dedicate all of her time to Bilbo and her and that she should take care of herself from time to time. Yet, all of Belladonna's beseeching had not caused any change in Laurel's behaviour and she had continued to care almost obsesivelly for Bag End.

She looked at the slender, womanly body of the young woman, who it seemed just yesterday had been her little girl. She felt warmth and longing rise within her and with a soft voice she called out to her and bid her to join her on the table. At the sound of her matriarchal voice, Laurel turned around and smiled affectionately at the elderly woman. She hastily moved toward Belladonna and sat down on the wooden bench beside her. For a fleeting moment, Belladonna had longed to scoop Laurel into her lap like she had done so many times during the girl's infancy, when she had required mothery consolement. Yet Belladonna knew that this was not possible with her increasingly frail physique, especially now that Laurel was just as tall as Belladonna herself. She wondered if her affection and regard for the young woman was being radiated from her form, because she saw Laurel's smile brighten and she felt her dainty, delicate hand cover her own more pudgy one. The girl pivoted her body, so that she was facing Belladonna and she proceeded to rest her forehead on her surrogate mother's shoulder. Belladonna combed an appeasing hand through her surrogate daughter's soft red curls and immediately the smell of sweet peas assailed her. A smell that she had come to associate with Laurel, because after Bilbo's kind gesture that had instigated their life-long friendship, the blossoms had become Laurel's favourite plants and Belladonna, who still cared for her beloved garden, despite her progressing age made sure that at the start of each spring season she had planted the seeds for this flower. The flowers would beautifully adorn the green hedgerows of her garden with vibrant purple and candid pink, but then when the flowers were in full bloom and it was time to harvest them, Belladonna would arrive in her garden and the hedgerows, which had almost been purple with a sea of sweet peas surrounding them, would revert to their forest green appearance. Laurel would raid the hedgerows and take all of the sweet peas that Belladonna had planted. It was the only selfish luxury that the girl indulged in and Belladonna could never find it in her heart to admonish the girl for taking them, especially when she saw bundles of the flowers laying between the fabrics of her clothes and which had explained why all year round Laurel's clothes smelled of the flower. She could not find it in her heart to resent the girl for taking the petals, when she saw her making fragrance and soap out of the brightly coloured petals. She loved these flowers and Belladonna would never forget to plant them for her.

She ran her fingers through her girl's shortened red-hair. It had been a shock to her, when Laurel had arrived at home and the red curls, which had reached the small of her back had been cut off and were then shoulder length. She remembered the fright she had gotten when an undeterred Laurel and a slightly sheepish Bilbo had arrived and she had been so startled that she had let out a loud exclamation that had Laurel flinch for a moment. She had feared that Belladonna would be furious at her, because every time Laurel had complained about the untameable nature of her hair, Belladonna had motherly admonished her and reminded her of her hair's beauty and the blessing it was to have these beautiful locks. Belladonna had for the first time raised her voice at Laurel, when one summer ago she had appeared in Bag End and her hair had been almost indecently short. Laurel had been disconcerted and intimidated by Belladonna's anger. Belladonna had disciplined her while growing up, but she had always lectured her with tenderness. Yet the fierceness that the older matriarchal hobbit had displayed had been quite disconcerting and Laurel had spent the next few days in silence not talking to Belladonna or Bilbo. They had soon reconciled and from then on her and Laurel had been able to converse more freely and less trepidated, and they felt safer to display their emotions to one another. Her hair had grown in a year and it now reached just below her shoulder blades. She should have not felt surprised, eventhough her and Bilbo were responsible, sensible young adults, they still maintained their youthful mischief, that had made the pair of them the old Baggins' bane. She should have known that her girl had been complaining about her hair too much and too frequently, she should have expected that the fiery, obstinate girl would come up with something and that Bilbo would follow along in her plans, just like he had done for two decades now. She should have known her children better. She should have known that the Tookish streak in her girl's blood, which coursed through her veins would prompt her to do this and she knew that it only took one flutter of Laurel's long, dark lashes at Bilbo for him to help her in whatever she needed. The two of them were one heart and soul and would indulge in the other's wishes without any hind thought, without questioning.

She cherished the friendship that the two of them had formed and she had been grateful at the fact that they had found each other, when they had needed to most. Bilbo had helped Laurel get over the grief of her mother's indifference and her subsequent abandonment of her and Laurel had banished Bilbo's isolation and had been an important source of comfort and support, while the lad had been growing up. Belladonna could only marvel happily that their child's friendship had not diminished with time, but that it had grown stronger and more mature similarly as her two children'd had.

Yet she still worried for the young woman, which she held in her arms like a young infant. She had to admit that during a time, when Bilbo and Laurel had been particularly, almost disconcertingly close, with her almost constantly embracing Bilbo, him being fiercely protective of her against the eldest son of the Sackville-Baggins, who had taken a particular interest in Laurel, she had doubted the platonic nature of their relationship and had thought that perhaps their love had shifted, had become more romantic. But she soon cast out those thoughts, because she was once again reminded that they thought of each other as siblings, especially when she had overheard one of their late night councils, over a warm cup of tea, where Laurel had been encouraging Bilbo to court the neighbour's daughter and had given him advice. Then Belladonna had known that Laurel held no romantic interest for Bilbo and that their physical interaction was innocent and almost infantile in nature. Yet she could not be blamed for her suspicions, for all the other citizens of Hobbiton shared this same asuming, often wondering about their close bond. Belladonna simply disregarded the gossip about her niece and her son. She knew that Laurel had no romantic interest- not in Bilbo and not in anyother hobbit lad to her knowledge.

And that is why she worried. Laurel was almost of age and she had never shown interest in settling down and getting married. Her focus seemed to be constantly on her and Bilbo, and Belladonna did not want Laurel to let her youth pass her by and then in old age be alone, with Belladonna having left this world and Bilbo having married a respectable hobbit lass. She worried, because the girls Laurel's age had already been courted and the majority of them were already engaged. Yet Laurel had refused any suitor that had tried to woo her. She had disregarded the man that had shown interest in her and had declined the offer of the ones that had been courageous enough to ask for her hand. She decided to voice her worries: „My dear Laurel. Next year shall come of age. I have come to realize that you have not entered into a courtship yet. When I was your age at this very same time I was already being courted by Bungo. Do you not wish for the attentions of a man?" Laurel raised her head and looked at Belladonna questioningly. Sensing the worry in her surrogate mother's gaze, her face dropped, but she still shook her head confirming Belladonna's suspicion and increasing her worry. At seeing the worry and slight disappointment in Belladonna's eyes, Laurel sighed wearily and stood up and moved toward the hearth to see the progression of the pie she had baked. She bound her red curls to a loose bun and exposed her slender, elegant neck and Belladonna could truly not understand how a girl as lovely as her niece was not yet engaged. „I only worry for you." Belladonna said appeasingly, when she felt her niece's distress. The only response she got was Laurel nodding her head. „Is there no hobbit in all of the Shire that appeals to you?"

Laurel spun around quickly and she had a fiery look in her eyes and she said agitatedly: „No, Bella. There isn't. I assure you that I am quite content with my situation in life. I do not need a man to ensure my happiness." Belladonna lifted herself up and her bones protested at the movement, she slowly moved toward the fuming Laurel, and when she had reached her she passed a consoling hand on her niece's delicate shoulders. She saw her stiff posture soften and heard her niece exhaling shakily. „I am sorry to have become so angry, Aunt Bella. But I do not wish for you to worry about my love life. I do not need to fall in love. I am already too much like her." Belladonna's brows furrowed in sadness. She knew that Laurel resented her mother for the pain she had caused her in her childhood. She knew that the red-haired girl thought her mother to be weak and now she could understand why Laurel was so relucant in the subject of love. She took her niece's hand and guided her to the bench. She sat down next to Laurel and proceeded to cradle the girl's head against her chest. „You will not be like her. Don't let yourself be brought off love just because of a traumatic experience. Love is so beautiful, my darling girl. It is so joyous to be in love. I remember the excitement I experienced when I was your age and Bungo's attentions were solely on me and trying to woo me." She had her niece's head between her hands and was looking into her cornflower blue eyes and she had been staring so intently into them, that she had detected a fleeting glint of something in her charge's gaze, which she would have normally missed if she had not been paying such close attention.

She now looked at her charge confused and in a questioning voice said: „What is it, Laurel? Why did you look like that, when I mentioned love?" Her charge looked at her now, equally astonished at her aunt's perception. She tried to look away, but sensing her aunt's unrelentiveness, she confessed: „I have been having dreams, Bella. Dreams of… a man." The red-haired girl got an angry look in her eyes and pursed her lips in frustration, fearing that her aunt would find her silly. „I do not find you naive, sweetheart. Tell me of your dreams. Do I know this man?" Her niece scoffed slightly and with humourless mirth she stated: „No. I do not believe you do. I do not know him myself." Encouraged by her aunt's genuine curiosity, Laurel proceeded to tell her of the dreams she had been having, when she fell asleep at night. How she would dream of a place far away from the Shire. How she normally dreamt of fierce battle scenes, which she had only heard of when Bilbo had read to her from one of his books. How she would dream of the misery and the blood shed and the cruel lack of humanity of the warriors during the battle. She would dream of death and despair and it would frighten her, because she was only used to the serenity of the Shire. She told her aunt, how her dreams frightened her. But then, a man would rise from the mass and this man would be the most courageous and honourable of them. His bravery and his morality, even while killing would cause Laurel's heart to contract painfully. His nobility had her in awe and she reported that his followers were fiercely loyal to him, because that was the leader he was: one that invoked loyalty. Belladonna, while listening intently to her charge's words, had also scrutinized and watched her closely as she told her of this man in her dreams. She saw how her niece's eyes brightened with excitement and… something else that was unreadable. How she had seemed in awe of the man and what deep regard she held for this figure without even having met him.

Laurel concluded her narrative sorrowfully: „When I awaken, I do not remember what he looks like, but I know I have dreamt of him, because I feel such familiarity to him and I always long to remain by his side longer." Belladonna was gazing down at her worriedly, her trepidation for her niece having risen as she told her about this man, who she was clearly besotted with. Laurel rolled her eyes at her aunt's worry and appeasingly said: „Don't worry Aunt Bella. I am not completely naive. I know that the chances of me meeting this man are painfully slim, if he even exists. I am quite capable of separating reality and dream." Her grip tightened at her charge's words and she had ominously: „The heart is not always rational, my dear. Especially in matters concerning the ones we love." Laurel's eyes widened and she recoiled from her aunt and said shakily: „I do not love him, Aunt Bella. I do not even know what he looks like. How could I love him?" „It does not matter that you don't know what he looks like, you do love him. You may try to deny it yourself, but I who know you even better than yourself at times can recognize the truth." Laurel had averted her eyes and was contemplatively and unhappily looking down. Belladonna sighed silently and passed a nurturing hand over her cheek and she whispered so lowly, that she questioned if her niece had even been able to hear her: „Only do not let this destroy you."


	5. Requiem for my native shores

_„And soon thy music, sad death-bell, Shall lift its notes once more, And mix my requiem with the wind that sweeps my native shore." The Bell- Ralph Waldo Emerson_

It had snuck up on them. The winter. The hobbits in the Shire had not awoken one morning and had been met with a rapid temperature decline. The fields had not turned from healthy, lively green to dreary, pure white in one night. The winter had snuck up on the Shire like a stealthy fiend, a mischievious cad. Temperatures had been gradually dropping, the ground had turned progressively colder, the sky had darkened and become ashen grey slowly. The winter had snuck up on them slowly, it had not taken them by surprise. Yet nothing could have prepared them for the devastation this season would cause them. Autumn and the harvest season had not been plentiful for the hobbits, with the soil being arid and fallow. The markets had turned barren and the limited ware, that had sprung from the normally so fruitful fields in the Shire, had been vastly overpriced, so much so that none could have afforded it and the precious aliment had wilted and fouled on the wooden stands.

When the first white crystals of snow had fallen from the thick, seemingly impenetrable clouds, the hobbit children had excitedly exited their homes and, with cheer and animation, had proceeded to celebrate this natural phenomena. The hobbit children had looked upon the fragile crystals with their shining eyes of cornflower blue or deep, muddy brown and they had stuck out their warm tongues, which would turn cold once the flocks had landed upon them, as if the snow would nourish them, would fill their aching bellies, a result of the lack of nourishment they had suffered due to their bad luck in the autumn season. They stuck out their tongues and tried to catch the flocks with such infantile, cheerful anticipation, as if the snowflakes did not just consist of water and harsh cold. As if perhaps these innocent-seeming bodies of white, which fell relentlessly from the sky like frigid rain, were not the culprits for the hunger they had suffered and would not bring them even more misery. This suspicion never entered the minds of the hobbits in the Shire and instead this snake-hearted fiend hid with a lovely visage was received with jubilation and elation, not only by the young and yet-simple minds of the infants, but also by the elder, adult hobbits, who had become infected seeing their younglings' joy and required something, anything to take their mind of the worry over food. The Tooks received the snow with their usual daring and adventurous spirits and immediately proceeded to run out of their hobbit holes, joining the dancing and cheering children in the wide streets of Hobbiton. The Sackville-Bagginses, with their usual conservative reticence simply continued sipping their afternoon tea and from the comfort of their warm homes, in front of the roaring fire in the hearthsid, watched the falling crystals settle upon the green grass and the light- brown earth with polite fascination.

Out of Bag End, a petite and red-haired young woman would come sprinting out of the hobbit hole and would greet the falling snow with an elation that even rivalled the young children's one. You would see her spinning around in front of the White picketfence in Bag End, with her head tipped back and raised toward the sky and her eyes screwed shut in innocent delight. She would seem untouched by the cold and the harsh wind that blew and whirled the flakes, perturbing their straight downward descent. She would seem utterly, blissfully oblivious to the cold, not showing any outward sign of discomfort caused by the weather, not shivering eventhough she was only clad in a thin, beige dress with only a thin, transparent silken shawl to cover and protect her exposed creamy white shoulders and her long, slender neck. The snowflakes would settle themselves upon her long, red locks and, as if heated by the heat of her hair's colour, they would soon melt, only allowing the untouched white to mingle and contrast with the vibrant red for a few, insufficiently short seconds. Soon a chubby and comfortable looking, young hobbit lad would also exit the green door the girl had emerged from and had in her undiluted excitement left open. The snow would also settle upon his golden-brown curls and his usually congenial face would be twisted with annoyed worry. He did not seem undeterred by the cold, he seemed fully aware of the heartless wind that kept blowing and blowing and swept over the Shire with its frigid nature, appearently intent on bringing with it cold bereavement. He would walk toward the girl, who was stood amidst the falling snowflakes and had her eyes closed and her delicate features softened, making her appear as if she was in a pleasant dream. He would walk up to her and would put a fatherly hand upon her shoulders, drawing her out of her self-induced trance. He would wake her and with a soft, but unrelenting voice he would urge her to return to their hobbit hole. To return to warmth. She would look at him and after a few seonds of undecisive hesitation she would acquiesce to his demands and follow him to their home. She entered through the circular door, green like the meadow's grass, which now only appeared white, almost like a corpse of its former self. Soon the lad closed the door behind him and separated them and the inside of their home, their haven from the frigid outside, but not before looking up at the skies, the source of the currently much enjoyed flakes, his eyes tinged with suspicion and premonition.

* * *

And the lad had been right to suspect the snow. He had been right to wonder at the intention of the unstoppingly descending white crystals, which would at first blanket the Shire, but then would vilely take possesion of it. He had been right to suspect these watery fiends, that had at first seemed like congenial playmates for the citizens, they would later so cruelly deceive. He had been right to suspect that as they had provided divertment and distraction of the worries that had gripped the hobbits since early autumn, they had been meanwhile quietly and subconsciously plotting. They'd had the sole purpose of only increasing, multiplying the worries that had gripped the hearts of the hobbits. The snow had stalked up to them and had offered temporary distraction, so that the bereavement they would later cause would only seem greater and more hurtful in its nature for it had been caused by something that the hobbits had previously viewed as a source of delight, as something that had been so beautiful, that'd had such a lovely cover, but truly only contained the most vile matter.

The snow and the cruel frigidness that had accompanied it caused sickness and ailment. The cold winds coming from the north induced an epidemic to spread amongs the mass of hobbits, who with their docile and passive disposition could not confront and battle the ravishing condition that gripped them. They could not fend off the exhausting bouts of cough that shook them and then after its end caused them to lay back on their warm beds, wearied by the exertion of clearing their breathing passages. They could not fight off the strong fever, that seized them and caused their small, fragile bodies to heat up like furnaces, but leaving their insides almost as cold as the air outside their homes. They could not fight off the excrutiating headaches, that made it seem, as if the women's meat hammers were being used on their scalps, and they could not fight off the nasal constipation that left them struggling for air and oxygen, like a flapping fish out of the stream, which ran through the middle of the hobbit's settlement. This raging illness coupled with the lack of food, which would have been utterly necessary to provide the hobbits some strength to fight off the ailment that strived to conquer and defeat them, caused the death of many hobbits in the Shire. No one was exempted, neither the young infants, who had spent but a few summers on Middle Earth and who'd had the joy of anticipation and promise running through their veins, a flowing that was cut so disappointingly short, when their little bodies were infected with this miscreed. Not the elderly hobbits, who were already weary of age and who would have passed in a matter of a few more summers, who should have been granted a more peaceful passing due to the quiet and tranquil life they had led. Not the adults, who should have had to care for their dependants, who suffered already enough, as the asphyxiating weight of responsibility weighed down on their shoulders.

The Shire, which had been previously a place blanketed with temperance and suburban content, was now the seat of death and despair this winter.

* * *

Her head was heavy with ache and she was struggling to draw a breath, since it seemed, as if a monstrous weight was settled upon her chest. Her weathered skin felt clammy and sticky with sweat, due to the heat, which her body exuded, yet she felt cold and the thick blanket, that had been stretched out above her offered her little respite and relief from the trembling, which had seized her plump body. With great effort she cracked upon her eyes, which almost seemed screwed shut, it almost seemed as if a heavy weight was lifting down her upper eye lid and she felt incredibly weary at the effort of opening her eyes. Her lack of physical strength temporarly shocked her, because all her life Belladonna Took had been an active and lively hobbit lass. Her Tookish streak, which had brought about her hunger for adventure had never allowed her to remain complacent for an extended amount of time and she had always been propelled to seek thrill. Belladonna had always been described as a brassy and impulsive woman and even as her age had progressed and she had settled down for Bungo and Bilbo's sake, she had always felt that bold impudence and audaciousness bubbling within her like a blessed potion. Now, however, she did not feel that. She only felt exhaustion and this clued her into the fate, which was creeping upon her and was almost impatiently awaiting her.

She had tried to withstand her sickness. She had bravely fought against it, especially when she had seen Laurel's despondent gaze, when she had fallen ill for the first time. She knew that she would break her surrogate daughter's heart, if she passed. Now that she had come to be a mother to the girl, Laurel would take her passing incredibly hard and would no doubt be seized by the same sadness that had gripped her after her mother's abandonment twenty winters ago. She also feared for Bilbo. He had taken his father's passing badly, but she had been there to console him, to offer him respite and comfort against the pain. Him loosing his last parent would leave him alone. She would abandon him.

But she had to remind herself that she would not leave Bilbo. That after her passing he would not be alone and that Laurel would also not be completely forsaken. That she would still be able to find comfort against the pain of grief. They had each other and suddenly Belladonna knew that they would be alright even without her. That they would manage to overcome her grief and that soon they would joy and contentment once more. It should have grieved her, when she realised that her two children were not completely dependant of her, that the world would go on, even after she had passed. This only served to remind her of her lack of importance, how she'd not had the impact on Middle Earth, she had dreamed of and desired, when she and Benji had been children and they had played in the woods abutting the Took's hobbit hole and had imagined themselves, being glorious heroes on great and fantastical adventures. She had never gone on one, she had never had an impact, she had not made a difference in Middle Earth, she had been one of many Hobbits that had married and settled down into comfortable lives. Yet she only felt joy, because she had married the man she loved, a man that due to his upbringing had been bound to disregard her and her venturesome spirit, but had loved her genuinely and who would no doubt be awaiting her to assist her in her passing and then they would be reunited for eternity. She did not feel grieved that she had not achieved her youthful, idealistic goals, because she knew that she had made a difference in the lives of the people that had mattered most to her. And as she tiredly looked at Laurel, who was sitting beside her and was wiping her sweaty forehead with a damp towel, while eyeing her lovingly and concernedly, at the girl who had become her pride and joy, for she had grown to be a kind and beautiful young woman, whose life she prayed would bring her much joy, for she had already experienced enough pain, she was appeased. As she looked at Bilbo, who was standing at the foot of her bed and was eyeing her nervously and chewing his lips in agitation, she felt at peace. Because eventhough she would die and leave her two children, she knew that they would survive and eventually return to their contented lives. They would be able to overcome their grief at her death, because they had each other.

Belladonna would have been worried if they didn't. If Laurel didn't have Bilbo by her side, to support her with his solemn care for her. If Bilbo wasn't there to assure her that she was not alone, that there was still another who loved her and would care for her. She feared that if Laurel didn't have Bilbo and his friendship that perhaps she would fall prey to her grief, that she would be completely enveloped by her melancholy. Similarly she feared that if Bilbo didn't have Laurel to care for him and didn't have her altruistic kindness at his side, that he would become bitter and alone. He was already too much like a Baggins- conservative and responsible to a fault. If she, as his last connection to the Took Clan died and left him, she feared that Bilbo and his spirit that was already subdued would fade completely and that he would be buried under decorum. But Laurel was there to keep him alive, similarly as Bilbo was there to keep her from fading.

She tenderly grasped the wrist of her surrogate daughter and the girl's eyes widened at the movement, since Belladonna had been lying inanimately on her bed for so long now. She looked at Laurel with an intentful gaze, before shifting her eyes to Bilbo and looking at him with the same seriousness and solemnity and she stated with a voice that creaked and croaked from its lack of use: „My children. I am dying." She was undeterred by the distress she felt radiating of Laurel's form, when she made this declaration, seemingly confirming her daughter's biggest fears. Her voice did soften however, as she went on: „I am dying, but do know that if I could I would remain here. I loved the both of you with all my heart and I am proud of the adults you have become." Laurel lowered her gaze in sorrow, almost as if she couln't bare to look at the buxom woman's face, that had always seemed so healthy with her chubby cheeks coloured with a faint blush of red and her constant motherly smile lighting up her features, but which now was fallow and her previously pudgy cheeks were sunk in from starvation. She saw that her son had moved closer to where both she and Laurel were located and being so in tune to his cousin's feelings, she saw him put his warm and fatherly hands on her shoulder, in an attempt to console her, to absorb her premature pain. She released Laurel's wrist and held them out, urging her children to take them. As soon as she had their warm hands in her glowing hot ones she said: „I do not worry about you, because I know you have one another. Your friendship is the most powerful thing. It is your greatest strength. Be there for one another always, never forsake each other, never deprive the other of your love." Both nodded her heads, even Laurel, who already had tears in her cornflower blue eyes. She smiled beatifically and the last thing she saw was how Bilbo enveloped Laurel into his embrace and then darkness descended upon her like a blanket and she was no more.


	6. Hundred Flowers

„ _I will be the gladdest thing Under the sun! I will touch a hundred flowers And not pick one._ _" Afternoon on a Hill- Edna St. Vincent Millay_

Laurel Arya Took was kind, beautiful, but incredibly sad.

That would be the answer one would get from any of the hobbits in Hobbiton concerning the niece of the late Belladonna Took. They would comment on her kind heart and her sweet gentility. How eventhough some hobbits were initially wary of her, because she was a half-elf, half-hobbit, they could not help, but lay down their initial worry, simply when they saw how kind-hearted and agreeable the young woman was. On her daily walk from and to the market, coming from Bag End, a smile would light up her features constantly and she would greet her acquantainces, as well as any strangers with the same gentleness, not making any distinctions. Having inherited Belladonna's green thumb, she would assist her neighbours with any quandary they had in their garden, endearing herself especially to Hamfast Gamgee, who shared a similar affinity and interest for anything that could sprout from the green grass, that was so healthy and abundant in this part of Middle Earth. Belladonna Took had been an exceptional baker and cook. Not even the most conservative of hobbits, such as the Sackville-Bagginses, who had had a distaste for her unruly and adventurous spirit could have denied that Belladonna's apple and spice pie was divine. Laurel had been raised to have the same talent for cooking, providing the Baggins of Bag End with nourishment and warm meals, when Belladonna had grown too weary to cook the six meals a day, that hobbits routinely ingested. Eventhough she was not as skilled, Laurel's pies were still delightful to eat and in an effort to display the hospitality and courtesy commonly known of the race that inhabited the Shire, she would spend an amount of time daily in the kitchen, baking pies or pastries to offer any guests, who may frequent her hobbit hole for afternoon tea or simply to share with any of her neighbours, who would come by unannounced. Yes, Laurel Took was a kind, congenial and hospitable young woman, and had been brought up to show the same manners, as the other hobbit lasses in Hobbiton and throughout the Shire had. So her kindness would perhaps not too uncommon, yet it was laced with such a heart-rendering honesty and genuinity that made it commentable and mentionable, when questions about her arose.

Another aspect about her manners was that you could often see a fierceness, a Tookish tigerishness veiled by her kindness. She was a fiery and often times hard-headed girl, who would defend things and matters that she held close to her heart with a vehemence and an assuredness, that often startled others. Eventhough, out of convention's sake, she would try to surpress her fiery temper, it would still surface more often than not, especially where her cousin Bilbo Baggins was concerned, whom she loved more than anything else. Her fiery temper was often a matter of discussion, unusual as it was. It was often the subject of gossip, especially for Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, who despite the girl's continued politeness to her, had grown a contemptous distate for her, due to her dislike for anything that was out of ordinary and unconvential.

And Laurel Arya Took was most definitely unconventional.

It was not only her sometimes tigerish manner, which differed so greatly from the more subdued and domestic handling of the other hobbit lasses in the Shire. No, another facet of her that was unusual and at times disconcerting in its alienity was her appearance. For Laurel Took was startingly lovely, yet looked so different from what the other hobbit lasses her age looked like. She was just as small as the hobbits, and was a few inches shorter than her cousin Bilbo. She had been the same height as Belladonna Took had been. But differently from the hobbit women, who were often chubby and buxom in their stature, a motherly figure with wide hips and softness oozing from their dress and apron-clad forms, Laurel was much more slender, having inherited her mother's figure, yet she still possessed tantalising womanly curves, that did not make her stature appear too boyish, but distinctly female. Her feet were bare and had stronger soles, similarly to the feet of other hobbits, but they were smaller and more dainty. Her skin was white like wax and cream, which was most unusual considering the amount of time she would spent out daily, either sitting beside Bilbo on the green bench beside their entrance door, contently observing the green, rolling hills of the Shire, while he smoked his pipe, or was in her garden tending to her aunt's flowery hedgerows in an attempt to preserve her aunt's legacy through the flora. Her skin was also soft like summer peaches and her features were so delicate and almost too beautiful to behold, with full, rosy lips, a small nose and doe-like cornflower blue eyes. Her hair cascaded down her back in a savage sea of red curls, that reflected the girl's spirit most accurately, with its fire-like quality; the colour was most unusual just like her father's hair had been, when he had lived in Hobbiton. With her fragile and dainty beauty, Laurel was unusual and had been often teased as a child for her mixed heritage. Yet the hobbits of Hobbiton had grown to accept and, in some cases, appreciate her clandestine appearance. Her fiery red hair, her delicate form and her blue eyes that had a melancholic undertone that made her so heartbreakingly exquisite, yet that had been present in these deep-pools of blue since the inhabitants of Hobbiton could remember.

Yes, Laurel Took was incredibly sad. Contrary to what many would have assumed, this sadness had not started at Belladonna Took's date of death. The day the kind, motherly female member of the Took clan, who had taken Laurel in and had loved and cared for her like her own daughter, had died. Not at the day the woman, she had cherished and loved like a mother, who she had cared for relentlessly, who she had taken such arduous efforts to keep alive, even when all, even Bilbo, her own son, had realised that the sickness that had gripped Belladonna's aging form would win over. That day the melancholy tone in her eyes had mostly definitely become more pronounced, like the languid sound of a flute, which's melody would rise above the string instruments in a certain part of the music; yet any hobbit of Hobbiton would tell you that the sadness in Laurel' eyes had been there unrelentingly, since Belladonna had first introduced this little girl, who had been the offspring of Benji Took and the elf he had married, as her niece, who would now live in Bag End with her and her son.

Perhaps, if one would have more time to inquire, the hobbits of Hobbiton would discuss her more deeply in detail. Perhaps they would talk about the close relationship and intimate friendship Bilbo Baggins and Laurel Took shared. How they were almost disconcertingly close for cousins. How they had been inseperable and the truest, most loyal friends from the earliest moments of their acquantainceship. How they had both been teased and shunned by the other hobbit children, who had not managed to overlook Laurel's uniqueness and Bilbo's shyness and his often too daring spirit, and the first two decades of his life Bilbo had been isolated. They would talk of how Laurel had arrived and that soon after her surprising, and unannounced arrival, which some of the village elders still disapproved of due to ist suddenness, she and Bilbo had been joined at the hips, how they had not left the other's side and how disconcerting it was, because where one could be found the other would not be far off. They would discuss how Bilbo and Laurel had been unwaveringly loyal to each other, and had appeased to the other's wish, either when Laurel had wanted to explore the abbuting forest, after the sun had set, when they should have been at home, or when Bilbo had prefered to spend a lazy afternoon lying on his tummy on the soft, green grass of his mother's garden, reading fantastical tales of bravery or painting one of his maps. They would talk, the majority disapprovingly, of the pranks the two had orchestrated, when they had been younger. How with sly feet, ghostly quietude, and mischievous astuteness, they had burgled small items, mot preferably the old Baggins' kerchief, and most would not know who the culprits were, days after the incident.

Maliciously and cynically, some would comment on the uncomfortably intimate behaviour they displayed toward each other. How Bilbo Baggins was fiercely protective of his cousin and in his youth had often instigated a fight, to defend his cousin's feelings, when one of the hobbit children had been unnecesseraly cruel and later, after she had bloomed into young womanhood, to protect her, especiall from the eldest son of Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, who to his mother's greatest dismay had formed an attraction to Laurel and had pursued her relentlessly, despite and in face of the girl's indignated dismay. They would whisper, cynically, about the constant physical closeness of the both of them. How Laurel would often hug her cousin or peck him on his chubby cheek and they would complain most arduously about Belladonna's upbringing and question the morality and integrity of Bag End. Yet kinder souls, who were not as disapproving of the pair of young adults, who now inhabited Bag End, both unmarried, who were closer and more friendly with the both of them, would assure you that the relationship between Bilbo and Laurel was strictly platonic and resembled the relationship of an elder, concerned brother and younger, more daring sister.

Perhaps they would discuss other things about Laurel Arya Took. Perhaps they would discuss her daily routine with one, perhaps they would comment about her dedication to Bilbo and the late Belladonna's garden, perhaps they would discuss the girl's endearingly naive and playful spirit. Perhaps, they would discuss the fact that she often walked through Hobbiton with a dreamy and longing look on her face, seemingly wishing to be elsewhere, with someone else perhaps. They might have also discussed how she had not seemed interested in any of the young hobbit lad's in Hobbiton and how some predicted, that she would spend the remainder of her days in Bag End, growing old beside her cousin, who had already commited himself to bachelorhood, after the girl, who he had been rumoured to have taken an interest in, the year before he had come of age had gotten married to a Brandybuck and had moved to the larger town of Bree. They would discuss all this with one, if they asked about Laurel Took and the asker would have enough time and patience for a prolonged conversation.

Yet for one that desired a quick description, an instantaineous portrayed opinion, the following: that is what any hobbit of Hobbiton would say.

Laurel Arya Took. She was kind, beautiful, but incredibly sad.

* * *

He rose from deep and peaceful slumber by the sound of a piercing, high-pitched cry, which's origins came from the chamber adjoining his. Groggy from sleep, he at first had asked himself whether the scream had not been a fabrication of his subconscious, something his mind had generated and that had awoken from a perfectly agreeable sleep, hours before the sun had started to rise in the east and make its predictable and reliable trajectory through the sky. Before he could dizzily dismiss the scream as a part of his dream and close his eyes to once more be enveloped by the warm blanket of the sleep of the just, another scream that was eerily similar to the one that had awoken him, once more pierced the air like a sharp arrow and sent him sitting bolt up-right in his bed. He was most familiar with this sound, having heard it before in his childhood. He was lucid now and any traces of sleep had been sweeped away by the worry he now felt. He quickly cast off the thick quilt that he had used to cover himself during the night and protect himself from the chill of the crepuscule, and with shacky legs he rose and moved toward the sound, he moved toward her, swinging his robe over his shoulders to protect himself from the chill of his halls. With noiseless steps, he exited his chambers and crossed the halls. He did not bother kocking for he knew that his cousin was asleep and that her cry had been caused by one of her dreams.

He could still remember the nights in his childhood, when he had awoken to that very same sound, which had been followed by either him going to her to wake her from the tormentous situation, which she faced during sleep or her coming to him, to entrust him with her dreams and ease the weight on her heart that had been caused by her dream, to seek his comfort. She would tell him that she would dream of her mother: she would dream of her mother's abandonment or of her mother's grieving, how the beautiful elf had deteriorated infront of her daughter's very eyes and would describe the despair she had felt at her mother's constant devastation, her almost vegetative state. He had been awoken by her screams during the first few years of her living at Bag End and it had always been caused by Laurel's dreams of her mother. Yet the last time he had awoken to her screams and the little girl had come ran into his room and had scrambingly gotten under his covers and buried herself in his arms, tremors shaking her body, had been so long ago, almost a distant memory. She had stopped dreaming of her mother, or at least she did not dream of her every night and her dreams no longer caused heart-aching screams to tear from her throat. Bilbo had assumed that her dreams had changed, for she no longer awoke from them with a sorrowful mood, but with one that was more longing in its nature, that was more yearning and so very different. He had questioned her once and she had told him of the man she would dream of. The man, who she admired and who Bilbo suspected was the reason that she had not shown any interest in entering a courtship with any of the lads in Hobbiton.

As he opened the door, the antiquated, metal hinges gave a drawn-out, weary creak and he saw that at the sound, which had no doubt been magnified by his cousin's elvish enhanced hearing, he saw her eye lids rose and her eyes snapped open. She turned her head to the side and as her gaze fell upon him, he could see that some of her distress had shifted to alleviated relief. She smiled tightly at him and sensing his cousin's need for comfort he quickly moved toward her and sat on her bed and was prepared to offer her just that. She covered his larger hand with her small fingers and squeezed them in a gesture of acknowledgement, but she made no move to speak and kept her gaze pensively on the wooden ceiling of her chamber. Taking the initiative, Bilbo broke the heavy silence: „You screamed Laurel. What were you dreaming of?" As if she had just realised his presence, despite the contact of their hands, she looked at him and after a few moments of tense hesitation she answered: „I was dreaming of fire. Of despair and pain. God, Bilbo, it seemed as if the world was ending in my dreams. A great, malevolent roar that would have chilled the marrow of the strongest, most fierce warrior. Trees, that were no longer green, but red, like torches blazed in the early morning dawn. Fire that meshed with the setting moon and the rising sun, twisting like the most intricate of your smoke ringlets. The sound of the pines on the mountain, like great mighty roars from the most frightening, tormented of creatures, while they too burned. The winds no longer blew, but moaned at what they were witnessing, the pain of innocents. Almost like nature itself grieved the horrors it had to witness this terrible morning. Yet the fire was undeterred by any pain it saw, did not care. It was red and it flaming spread. A great mass of injured people, people who had been caught of guard, innocents who were now homeless and in pain not only physically, but a deep agony of the soul. And he amidst this mass. Hurting more than any other. Responsibilty and homesickness weighing down his heart. His despair, his guilt at the pain his people had had to endure. And then… rage and bitterness, a causticness that arose and spread through him quicker and more deadly than the fire had spread." He looked down at her worriedly and saw that her face had become a mask of grief at the events that had passed in her dreams. He squeezed her hands tighter and with his thumb, he strived to flatten the crease of worry that had formed between her brows. She looked at him unhappily and sleepily and in an attempt to appease her he said: „It was only a dream Laurel. It's a few hours until dawn. Go to sleep. I will remain here." She smiled a small smile at him and closed her eyes. He exhaled deeply and after having shed his heavy robe, he lay down by her side and let sleep consume him.

* * *

He was stood before the door of Laurel's chamber and with his leather-bound case of pergament, he pondered whether or not to intrude by knocking on the heavy wood. It was late afternoon now and the sun was beginning to lower itself to the ground in the far horizon and soon the sky would be inky black. Silence hung upon his deserted corridor like a heavy, impenetrable sheet that was only broken the muffled sound of excited shatter from the other side of the door. His cousin was getting ready fort he feast tonight, for tonight would be the celebration of Laurel's thirty-third year on Middle Earth, since her birth. His cousin had come of age today. He remembered how he had awoken in the morning, and the place on his side had already been cold, suggesting that she had risen much earlier than him. He had woken by the pleasant warmth, the early morning sun had radiated on his face. He had been at first startled to find himself only with the company of a barren void on his right, a void that had been bare of her, where she sould have been lying, with the early morning light, which filtered through the transparent glass of the window shining on her ivory skin. He woud have awakened her, perhaps by jumping on her bed just as she had done when he had come of age ten seasons ago. He would have awoken her just as suddenly and he would have taken delight in seeing her disgruntlement and her rosy lips in a dissatisfied pout. But she had taken this joy from him, when she had awoken earlier. He had strained his pointy ear and the faint sound of dulcet humming, originating from the kitchen had reached him, as well as the hearty smell of fresh bread and recently-brewed tea. Propelled by this, he had stood and moved toward the kitchen where she had stood like every other morning and had contently prepared to break fast with him. He had once more blessed routine and then he had proceeded to greet her and wish her a joyous coming of age.

Now he stood before her door and was embarrasingly indecisive to what he sould do next. Bell Goodchild, who was a close acquantaince of Laurel had come a few hours before and had insisted to assist Laurel in getting ready for the feast in Hobbiton tonight. She and Bell had grown closer over the past few years, since Bell too had been initially wary of Laurel and of her unusual heritage. Bilbo sometimes questioned the friendship between the two women, while Bell was perfectly agreeable and corteous to both him and Laurel, he did notice that the hobbit woman was often frugal in face of the friendship between Laurel and Hamfast Gamgee, their neighbour. The two of them had grown closer, when Laurel had started to tend to his mother's garden and had discovered the joy in the maintance of flowers. At the beginning she had been more cautious and had gardened more gingerly, in fear that she would do something wrong, and she had gone to their chubby, pipe-smoking neighbour for assistance. She had been incredibly grateful to him, when he had managed to dispell her worries with steadfast and accurate advice and they had grown friendly over their shared hobby. And Bell had grown suspicious and wary, not quite welcoming the newly blossomed kinship between her friend and the man, who she fancied and had entered into a courtship with. Laurel would be adamant to assure Bell that she and Hamfast were only friends and that their relationship, similarly to her and Bilbo's, was only platonic in nature. Appeased, Bell had accepted the friendship, but Bilbo knew that she was on guard and provident of it.

He looked over his shoulder at the grandfather clock, that he had inherited from his father's grandfather, which was stood, leaned against the opposite wall. Bell had arrived three hours ago, surely they had finished by now, especially considering that the feast in the village sqaure would start in an hour. He raised his fist and knocked on the door, to announce his presence and wish to enter the chamber. The singular voice, which he recognized as Bell's died down, and was replaced by a few seconds of silence that mirrored the one in the hall and then by slight scuffling, the sound of quick and light footsteps approaching the door. The door opened and Bell was stood with the knob on her hand and a friendly smile on her round face. Knowing that he had come to see Laurel, she stepped aside and allowed him entrance to his cousin's warm chamber that was illuminated by the faint flame of candles.

At seeing his cousin's appearance, a wide smile contorted his face. Bell had done good work in helping her get dressed, she looked lovely. She was sat in front of her vanity, facing him and she was wearing a dark yellow dress made of sheer, which hung off her shoulders and exposed her creamy skin there. There were miniscule details of pink roses embroidered in the gown and it was floor-length. Her red curls had been swept back in a loose ponytail, held by pink and musk green ribbons, with a few, curly tendrils of red having swept out and framing her pale cheeks. She had a textile head-dress, made oft he same yellow fabric, embroidered with delicate roses running across her forehead. She was looking at him expectantly and smiling a small smile.

„I have to go now and get ready myself. I will see the two of you at the town square in an hour." Laurel smiled gratefully at her friend and said in farewell: „Of course, thank you so much for having helped me, Bell." The buxom woman waved her hand in a dismissing gesture, before she exited the chambers and closed the door behind her leaving Laurel and Bilbo alone. He moved toward her and sat on the stool, which Bell had supposedly occupied previously.

He looked at his cousin with a proud smile and he told her that she looked beautiful. In response she grasped his hand and with a grateful smile at the compliment, she squeezed it. He proceeded to paint her portrait, just as the village artist had done when he had come of age. He painted Laurel and soon after he had finsihed the coal piece, they hurriedly moved down the hill of Hobbiton toward the village square, where the populace of Hobbiton was assembled for tonight's feast. He had been consumed by anticipatory ectstasy at tonight's event, while he had been painting her portrait so he had taken no note of the detail he would come to ponder in later years, when his hair had long gone gray. He had taken no note of it, while painting her, though it would be engraved in his mind's eye, years after that event when for the first time he had beared to look at the painting, and what had been a joyous memory for the pair oft hem. He had not noticed that despite the smile her lips were curled in, that her eyes were infinitely sad.

The feast was well underway with the succulent smell of various warm dishes, wafting and warming the air and the village square, which would have been quite reticent on normal days at this hour of night, was filled and aloud with the excited sound of conversation and joy. He was sitting on the wooden bench beneath a beerch tree and was humidfying his dry mouth with some cool ale. His heart was racing and he had shed his overcoat as he had soon grown hot under the fabric in the warm summer night and after having danced with Laurel for a long intervall of time. He observed his cousin as she was spun around by Hamfast Gamgee, who had taken over for him, when he had declared that his feet ached and they were too heavy and he could not possibly move them anymore.

The dance soon came to an end and Laurel, whose cheek were dusted red with exhaustion and excitement thanked Hamfast and Bilbo assumed that she would most likely join his company and rest after having danced so much. He saw how she smiled at Hamfast gratefully and then Hamfast slightly bowed down to her and pressed his lips to her overheated cheeks. A gesture that had been perfectly innocent to Bilbo, was not perceived as platonically by others, especially by Bell, who stormed off in an offended huff. Laurel had at that moment glanced to her side and seen her friend's discontent, and her face fell. She ran after Bell and Bilbo seeing his cousin's unhappiness at the misunderstanding, quickly rose and went after the two women. As he moved closer he saw that Laurel was proceeding to explain the situation to Bell, but he was too far of to hear his cousin's justification. When he had moved closer, he heard Bell say in response: „I do not care for your explanations Laurel. You are my friend and you knew how fond I am of Hamfast, yet you still disrespect our courtship by your shameless intimacy with him. Just because you have realised that you will likely end up an old maid, because of your foolish infatuation with a dream does not mean that you have to take my betrothed from me." He felt hot indignation rise through him, especially when he saw his cousin's shoulders slump. He came up beside her and put his arms around her shoulders in a steadying gesture and told the buxom woman, who was attempting to uphold a proud and self-assured expression, despite the fact that he could see her cringing at the hurt Laurel displayed on her face: „That's enough, Bell. Please leave me and Laurel for a moment." She looked at him, but she showed no reluctance or hesitation and quickly left.

After she had left, he heard Laurel exhale shakily and getly, but firmly shrug off his arm and move to sit on the grassed elevation, abutting the earthy road. She saw that she had her knees drawn up and was staring off into the distance with an unreadable emotion in her eyes and her lips pursed. He moved to sit down beside her on the slightly wet grass and again slung his arms over her shoulders, holding her in a consoling embrace. When it became clear that she would not adress him, he said: „Do not listen to her, Laurel. She was simply annoyed that you and Hamfast were so close. She has never approved of your friendship and has always had the nagging suspicion that there could be more. She does not truly mean her hurtful words, cousin." She sat silently beside him and gave no indication that she had heard her word and for a moment Bilbo wondered if she was not elsewhere in her mind. „Even if you do end up an old, unmarried maid, you shall not be alone, because I will also grow old unmarried. We shall grow old in Bag End, contently and disregard the malicious gossip of those confounded hobbits." She once more gave no answer and if he had not felt the warmth of her body beside him, he could have sworn that she was not present and he was speaking to himself. He felt slight worry seize him and he said: „Please talk to me. Answer me, Laurie." At the sound of her nickname, she was roused of her waking sleep and she leaned her head to the side, so that she was resting it against his shoulder. „Nobody loves me, nobody cares for me, but you, Bilbo. You are my only true friend and that I shall never forget." And then silence came over them and Bilbo did not attempt to break it, because he knew it was not necessary. The two hobbits of Bag End sat on the humid grass, the contented silence between them broken by the fading noise of the feast and stared up at the stars above them. Oblivious to the events that would soon take place in their lives and that would forever change the course they had expected of themselves.


	7. Hope and Feathers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Book Two: In which Thorin Oakenshield's quest is revealed

_"Hope" is the thing with feathers— That perches in the soul— And sings the tune without the words— And never stops—at all"- Hope is the thing with feathers, Emily Dickinson_

She was making her way up from the market to Bag End on this late summer morning, whilst the sun shone on her hair and warmed her pale features. The summer season was coming to an end and soon autumn would arrive. Autumn, which would bring the harvest season with it, where the fields and its fruits would be ripe for plucking. Autumn, when the almost oppresively hot temperatures would gradually drop and the vibrantly green leaves would slowly turn to warm shades of brown, yellow and red and would drop from the trees to lie on the floor, where they would slowly disintegrate to dust and earth. When they would meet their end.

She had become a creature of routine, encouraged by her cousin Bilbo, who had become more of a Baggins and had almost completely forsaken his Tookish Streak as his age had progressed. She had become more complacent, especially after her aunt Belladonna Took had died and due to his mother's death, Bilbo had become even more homey, as if he wished to erase any memory of his mother, as if he wished to subdue any resemblance he bore to her. It had been done unconsciously no doubt, but Laurel had recognized it, especially as she had done the same thing, when her mother Elauriel had abandoned her and gone to fade. She had tried to dispell any similarity, any characteristic inherited from her mother, that she had possessed. Yet, differently from Bilbo she had failed miserably, because despite the fact that she had resented her mother and had dreaded becoming like her, treacherously she had longed for it all the same, because it had been a way to hold onto the memory of the woman, that despite her indifference toward her daughter, she had loved all the same. Bilbo had managed to dispell any Tookish streak he had possessed and, eventhough she had made no mention of it, it had pained Laurel, as she recalled the hours they had spent in the wood searching for any of her and her mother's kin, searching for the courageous and fierce warriors, that had sprung from the race of dwarves or men. How they had spent hours reenacting the tales that had been in Bilbo's storybook and how they had envisioned themselves, as the glorious heroes they had been in awe of, how they too had longed to make an impact on Middle Earth through their own self-crafted tales of bravery. But she had recognized Bilbo's pain and had made no mention of how he had become so much like his father. She had never had the fortune of meeting Bungo, though she resented that, because Bilbo would always talk with such fondness of his late father and would paint him in the most agreeable light. But he was a Baggins of Bag End and though he had accepted the Tookish Streak that had coursed through both Belladonna and Bilbo, Laurel was already acquainted with enough Bagginses to know that they were responsible and almost intolerant of any exceptionality in others. She had to bitterly think of Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, who she would treat with begruding courtesy, as a favour to Bilbo, eventhough she was quite disliking toward the snooty woman, who made no secret of her distaste for Laurel and her unique heritage, eventhough Laurel had long since adapted to the domestic and homey ways of the hobbits in Hobbiton, having grown up in this bucolic environment.

So she had become homely and a creature of habit, especially when Belladonna's encouragement to be daring and adventurous was no longer existant. She had become quite content to spend out her days in Bag End and live out her comfortable routine day in day out. Yet, there was still a nagging, an urge for something more, for something else. She could not truly envision spending her days looking out at the same landscape. She could not truly believe that this is what her life would be. That her life would be similar to that of Bell Goodchild or any of the daughters of the Brandybuck clan. She could not believe that she would spend out the rest of her days, confined to Bag End doing the same things daily. And these doubts gave origin to a wish to do something more, to be somewhere else, with someone else, though she did not know where or who, because all she knew was Bilbo Baggins, Bag End and Hobbiton. She had no friends or kins outside of Bilbo and he, with his unwavering loyalty, was quite enough for her. She had no skill in combat and did not know how to defend herself, a necessety if she were to go explore Middle Earth, because she was not as naive and mundane to believe that the whole of Middle Earth was as pacifistic as the Shire. Having read the tales of adventure, that had bewitched her as an imp, she was quite aware of Orcs, who were fearsome with their cruelty and distorted visages, of goblins and their foulness and crude cruelty. Yet she still had a longing within her that did cause her guilt, because she felt ungrateful and disloyal toward Bilbo, who would have never left her, of that she was sure and she felt as if she was betraying the promise, the last wish the woman, who had selflessly cared for her and loved her, had had. So she had subdued her Tookish Streak and the call of the wild she felt within her and she had become homely.

She had started following her routine. She rose every morning and made first breakfast for her and her cousin. Later she would lay out second breakfast for Bilbo, before she went to the market to purchase grocery that was lacking in their foodchamber. She would walk through the stalls and the wooden stands, that would hold and provide a rich and vast assortment of the most delectable ware and she would choose only the best. She would walk through the market and congenially greet her acquantainces and occasionally stop to hold a conversation with either the matriarch of the Gamgees, or the youngest daughter of the Bolgers, who would comment on the exceptional quality of the ware from Bree that week, and Laurel would indulge them, eventhough the apples did most certainly not appear rounder or more red than the previous week's had. She would inhale the ecletic smell of the aliment, that rested on the weathered wood of the stands, and she would blend out the sound of the playing children, who ran through the market in their infantile excitement, before they would be summoned by their apron-clad mothers for midday lunch. She would then trek her way through Hobbiton, uphill to her hobbit hole in the ground, to Bag End, just as she did now.

As Laurel opened the gate of the fence, so that she could gain entrance and then moved to the door, that her cousin had just yesterday coated with a fresh layer of moss green paint, she thought about her routine in the afternoon. She would cook lunch for her cousin and then she would most likely spend some time baking pastry, before either tending to the garden she had inherited from her aunt Belladonna or sitting in the living room with Bilbo, leafing through their old book of tales, which's page were thin and ratty from how often it had been used in their youth by the both of them, with flecks of green from the grass and still smelling of the woods, which abutted their home. She took the door handle and to her surprise it did not give and the door did not open to reveal the illuminated entrance hall of Bag End. She furrowed her eye brows and moving her basket, so that the braided strap was resting between the crook of her elbows, with both her hands she rattled on the door knob to no avail, because the door did not open. Exasperated and assuming that Bilbo had locked her out and forgotten that she had not yet returned from the market with their fare, she raised her fist and knocked on the green-painted wood. In response she heard her cousin's distressed voice call out, rather shriekingly from the inside: „There is no one home. Please come back later. Good Morning!" She started and looked at the door with a wide-eyed and confused gaze. She was not only surprised at her cousin's seeming distress, after having left him sitting on the bench at the side of the entrance, idylically smoking his pipe and overlooking the landscape of the Shire. She was also surprised at her cousin's lack of hospitality and courtesy, refusing to receive any visitor of Bag End and at his contradictory behaviour of claiming no one was at home, but calling out nonetheless. She said loudly, hoping that her voice would carry through the wood, just as Bilbo's had: „Bilbo, it's me. I have come back from the market. Would you kindly let me in?" She heard the mechanic clicking of the locks, as Bilbo opened the door and then her cousin was stood before her, with a slightly apologetic look in his face, and looking at her pleasantly enough, all the while still appearing slightly pale and flustered. He ignored her questioning glance and moved to take her basket of groceries off her, before he moved in the direction of the kitchen. Thinking this situation was quite strange indeed, Laurel kept her eyes glued to her cousin's back, while entering their home and closing the door behind her. She quickly followed her cousin to the kitchen.

She flattened her dark green, moss-coloured skirt, which flowed down to her mid-calf and she straightened her golden wasitcoat, that lay over her white, long-sleeved blouse and she turned the buttons, a habit of hers, before she bent down to pick up the pan she would need to cook the stew in. She had fixed her unruly, red hair in a neat bun and had exposed her long, slender neck in the process and she welcomed the cool air that wafted across the heated skin of her nape, especially as she stood so close to the stove, which's heat was radiated and caused her to become almost unbearably warm. Bilbo was sat on the table behind her and he had not uttered a word, since she had arrived home from the market and had gotten the most unusual reception.

She was in the process of dicing the carrots, when she could bear the silence and her curiosity no longer and she broke the contented quietude that had steeled upon them by asking: „Bilbo, what's wrong?" She heard the dull thud of him laying down the book he had been reading, or had been using to avoid looking at her and seeing her silent questioning. She heard him exhale, a little too loudly and at that sound she turned around and looked at him to see him passing a wary hand over his face. Seeing his disconcertment, she crossed her arms in front of her chest and leaned against the kitchen counter and fixed him with an obstinate glare, which was meant to tell him that she would not seize until he had thoroughly explained the reason for his queer behaviour that had been caused by something that had happened during her absence. His face fell slightly at seeing her headstrong look, that he had gotten to know well during their childhood and he knew he had no choice, but to appease to her questioning. So he proceeded to tell her of the elderly man with the pointed hat, the wooden cane and the wise pair of eyes that had appeared before him, when he had been serenely going about his routine and smoking his pipe, as he did every morning at that time of day. He told her of how he had politely bid the man Good Morning and how the tall, statesque man had proceeded to confuse him most thoroughly by asking him what he had meant with his greeting. He told her how the man had stated his reason for being in the Shire, how the man had been in search of a person to share in an adventure with. And that was the moment, Laurel's curiosity was most truly piqued and she leant forward, as if it would have helped her to hear her cousin's unusual tale more clearly. He told her how he had explained to the man, that there would be no one in this part interested in an adventure and and how he should look in another place, for hobbits found adventures inconventient things, that disrupted their suburban routine. He told her that he had been disconcerted by this most unusual man, with his most unusual conversation and he had quickly tried to leave his company and to most politely and discreetly dismiss him. He told her of how his concealed efforts had been in vain, because the man had recognized his intentions and had expressed his disappointment at Belladonna's son's behaviour, and that he had strangely felt most desolate at having let down the man's expectations of him. He proceeded to tell her, that he found out that the man was indeed Gandalf the Grey, the wizard who would create the most enchanting displays of fireworks during the solstice festivals. He had been almost in awe of the man then, remembering their fondness for the wise wizard, but that he had dismissed him most arduously, when the man had continued to express his desire to find a companion for his adventure. How he had felt that the man had been talking about him and that he'd had no interest in sharing in an adventure, perfectly happy where he was.

During Bilbo's narrative , Laurel's worry had dissipated and been replaced with amazement and undiluted curiosity. She and her Tookish side were intrigued at the prospects that Gandalf had presented and she remembered her feeling of how she had thought that she was not meant to remain in the Shire for her whole life. She had been intrigued and she had felt the excitement of her adventurous side, that Belladonna had always described to her, rise within her like a bubbling potion. And she had felt immense disappointment, when Bilbo had told her that he had dismissed the man and his offer and he had sensed her disappointment, because at seeing her downcast gaze and her barely veiled crestfallen demeanour, he had stated: „Not everyone is meant to be a glorious adventurer and hero, Laurel. I know that as children we always dreamed of it. But we are adults now, and we have responsibilities. We can not simply run off at the whims of a suspicious stranger with most disconcerting prepositions. And most adventures are uncomfortable and quite often life-threatening. Why would we risk our lives for the unknown, when we are perfectly content here in Bag End?" She had looked up at him and for a few seconds, she had simply looked at him and a silent conversation had passed between them. An occurence when Laurel had truly started to question if Bilbo was so complacent, if the young boy, who had always been the first to run off into the woods in search for elves had completely vanished without a trace. She had also pondered on the honesty of his words, because eventhough Bilbo was the most responsible of men, she could see that he too had been intrigued by the wizard's visit. He may not want to recognize, to ponder on it, but she knew him, perhaps even better than he knew himself at times and she could recognize that he had been stirred by the events of today. But he had dismissed the wizard and according to him, had been quite rude in doing so. It would be best to put the occurence out of her mind, she was meant to spend out her days in Bag End and this was a fate she was content with. She would put her childish whims of adventure-seeking out of her mind. She turned and proceeded with the preparations of lunch and her pastries. She had just fetched the flour, she would need for the chocolate buns, she was planning to prepare and had started to gather the flour needed for the dough, when behind her she heard Bilbo's voice, that was no longer heavy with solemnity, but had lightened with something akin to amusement: „We are not all meant to be heroes, Laurel. We are not all destined to be the most honourable warriors, like your beloved.", he teased her. Her mouth dropped open and she let out a huff, that was an odd mixture between an indignated grunt and an amused scoff and she turned around to see his mischievious smile. She threw the flour she held in her hands at Bilbo, but he was too far off and the powdery substance did not reach him, but fell to the previously clean wooden floor. She groaned and turned around, and then she rolled her eyes when she heard his amused chuckle at her antics. She confounded him and ordered him to leave the kitchen, which he reluctantly did, leaving her to her cooking.

* * *

They were both sitting on the kitchen table, the darkness that filtered through the kitchen window broken by the faint flickering of the candle. Bilbo proceeded to enthusiastically squirt lemon juice over the delectable fish that he had cooked for dinner. The smell of the seared meat only increased her appetite and they were about to start their meal, when an ominous-sounding knock came from the entrance. They both put down their utensils and looked at each other with their brows furrowed, identical expressions of confusion in their faces. „I'll get it." Bilbo said and he proceeded to stand up and move toward the entrance hall. She sat and waited for her cousin to return, so that they could both eat their dinner that was turning cold. But when she heard footsteps coming toward her and expected Bilbo's familiar form to appear she was startled that the person, who appeared before her was most definitely not her cousin. Most definitely not Bilbo, who, bless him, did not have a single intimidating facet to his appearance. Who was a soft and comfortable looking hobbit, who seemed so tranquil and did not appear to be able to hurt a fly. To be exact the person who appeared before her was exactly the opposite of Bilbo. He oozed a ominous and threatening atmosphere with his heavy armour and his bald head, on which there were some ink-drawings, that looked tribal and ancient and slightly faded in their appearance. The top of his scalp was bare, save for these tattoos, yet slightly greying hair still flowed down his back and he had a thick and long beard. He was much broader than Bilbo, and so gave the illusion that he was much stronger and infinitely threatening to Laurel, as she was only used to seeing the slight and chubby stature of the man in Hobbiton. But this man with his leather armour, his thick fur cloak and the menacing glint in his narrowed eyes that were almost indistinguishable due to his heavy-set and furrowed brows, gave him the impression of a warrior.

She caught her composure and blushed slightly, that she had been studying him so intently and had completely forgotten her manners, she quickly stood and this seemingly propelled the man to say in a deep and raspy voice, that was slightly accented, the origin she could not place: „Dwalin, at your service." She curtseyed out of courtesy and stated in a voice that seemed even softer, compared to his guttural rasping: „Laurel, at your's sir." He gave her a barely perceptible nod in acknowledgement and then his eyes fell on her cousin's plate and he quickly moved toward the table and sat himself down on Bilbo's chair and proceeded to eat his dinner. She was so surprised at his inadvertent and sudden behaviour, that she had been simply looking at him wide-eyed still flustered by his sudden arrival. So surprised she had been, that she had not even heard how Bilbo had come to stand by her side and look at their unexpected guest with equal astonishment. But the man was undettered by their staring, he gave no indication that he had acknoweldged or even realized their disbelieving scrutiny and he simply proceeded to eat the fish Bilbo had been so looking forward to, at an almost astonishing speed. She heard Bilbo's airy whisper beside her: „Dwarf" And her eyes immediately widened and her curiosity in their guest was once more piqued. Of course, she had been so surprised at him and his annouced visit and at his unusual appearance that she had not recognized him. That she had not remembered the description her book had given her of dwarves. How their book had once described dwarves to be fierce warriors, and having a stockier appearance yet still being taller than hobbits with great beards that they took pride in.

Master Dwalin had finished eating from Bilbo's plate and he gave a roaring burp and looked quite appeased and satisifed. She looked to her side and saw that Bilbo was looking at the plate, which was now bare, except for the skelleton oft he fish he had cooked, with longing and slight resent, no doubt having wished that he himself had eaten the food. She quickly took her plate, in fear Dwalin would too take it for he still looked hungry and she quickly gave it to Bilbo, who accepted her offer graciously. She moved to stand closer to the hearth and she now stood at Dwalin's right side and was still looking at him amazed, while he rubbed his stomach contently through his thick armour. Out of habit, she started to twirl a tendril of one red curl that had escaped the neat bun she had gathered her hair into, around her finger and then Dwalin finally acknowledged her since he had introduced himself earlier: „Very good, this. Is there any more?" She was about to shake her head, when she remembered the plate of chocolate buns, that had been left over from afternoon tea that day and which she had placed upon the hearth to keep warm and that she and Bilbo could have after their meal. She nodded and gave him a pleasant smile, retrieving the plate and handing it to his outstretched hands, but not before taking two buns off the plate for herself. Bilbo, who was wiping his mouth after having finished the fish, now fixed the still-eating dwarf with a look of disapprovement and in a voice that was counterfeitly polite, proceeded to say: „Like any hobbit, I do enjoy guests. But more so when they are announced and…" He was interrupted by the sound of knocking and again he looked at her startled, like he expected her to have the explanation for these arrivals, but she took could only shrug her shoulders, equally as confused as him. Bilbo hesitated and seemed almost frozen in place, but then Dwalin broke his reverie by saying and smirking: „That was the door."

Bilbo left and soon he returned with another stocky man, who with his white beard looked decidedly older than the dwarf, who had arrived earlier. If Laurel was honest, this dwarf also looked much more congenial than Dwalin with his slightly smiling mouth and his wise, yet kind eyes. He was stood in the doorway and when his eyes fell upon her, his smile widened and he said in a warm, raspy voice that made Laurel feel more at ease: „Ah, hello Lass. I am Balin, at your service." She could not help, but to smile at the man also and with more comfort she courtseyed to him and said: „Laurel, at your's, sir." Dwalin had risen and he joyously and languidly moved toward the new arrival and he stood before him and his deep voice boomed with elation: „Brother. You have become wider and shorter, since we last met." The older dwarf screwed one of his eyes shut in mock chagrin and he clapped his hand on the other's shoulder, before saying: „Wider, not shorter. And still sharp enough for the pair of us." Then in greeting they proceeded to knock their head's together and the cracking and hollow sound the actions produced had Laurel cringe in discomfort. She saw Bilbo, who was stood in the middle of the hallway leading from the entranece to the kitchen and he too was looking at the pair of dwarven brothers in disbelief, rubbing his forehead, as if he had felt the pain the actions no doubt induced.

But neither Balin nor Dwalin showed any indication of pain and moved toward the aliment chamber in companiable conversation, seemingly having forgotten both Bilbo and Laurel, who were the owners of the hobbit hole. Indeed both dwarves moved with such accuracy and assuredness, as if they were quite familiar with the layout of Bag End and had spent much time in the hobbit hole. Both Bilbo and Laurel followed the dwarves in alarm, fearing what would happen next, because the unexpected arrival of two dwarves at the Baggins' household had proclaimed that the impossible would happen tonight and with fear over this, both Laurel and Bilbo moved after the two conversing dwarves. While Laurel was still slightly in awe at the arrival of their guests and the fact that they were not hobbits, but a whole different race, which was proclaimed to be one of the mightiest in Middle Earth and who according to legends she had read almost reverently as a child were the best metalworker, smiths and stoneworkers in Middle Earth and were fierce in battle, almost fiercer than even men, having as their main weapons axes. But Bilbo's awe was waning and quickly being replaced by vexation at their inconvenience and the liberty they took.

Both Balin and Dwalin were looking through the food in the chamber with critical eyes and were raiding the pantry. She was still looking at the dwarves and at their critical cataloguing, she could not help but feel slight amusement, eventhough she could feel her cousin bustling in annoyance beside her. She was just about to attempt appeasing him, when he said in a voice that was dripping with annoyance and disapprovement and resolve: „ I like guests just as much as the next hobbit, but I do like knowing them, before they come visiting. I do not mean to be blunt, but neither me nor Laurel know the both you. Not in the slightest. I'm sorry." During his last words both dwarves had turned around and paid attention to Bilbo and her for the first time. The older of the two of them gave him a consolatory smile and he said: „Apology accepted." At the cheek of the dwarves, she could not surpress her amusement and she gave a soft snort, and in response Bilbo turned his disapproving and vexed glare at her. Before he could start admonishing her, another kock sounded from the front door and Laurel knowing that the night was long from over was not surprised and before she moved toward the entrance she said: „I'll get it".

When she opened the door, she was met by the sight of two other dwarves, who did not resemble the previous arrivals in the slightest. They were both visibly younger than the previous two, with the dark-haired individual of the pair not even having grown a beard yet. The dark-haired one had shorter hair that was held out of his face by braids and he was dressed in a blue tunic and a heavy cloak with intricate details broidered at the lapels, and his cheek sported a light beardy stubble. The other, who she assumed was his brother due to their uncanny similarity, had a lighter colour of hair and his was longer and braided throughout the length of it. He appeared to be older than his brother with a more mature air about him and his larger beard. Similarly to Dwalin, he also wore a furred cloak, which made him appear much broader. When she had opened the door and stood before them with a pleasant and slightly expectant smile on her face, she had seen that their eyes had widened slightly, before they caught their composure and smiled at her widely and somewhat appreciatively and the blonde-haired one stated and took her hand in his larger and more calloused one: „Fili.." the younger soon followed his brother's example and introduced while taking her hand and said: „… Kili." Then they both bowed and exploited the opporunity to press a corteous kiss on her hand and then they righted themselves and with flirting smiles they declared in unison: „At your service!" She felt slightly apprehensive at their behaviour toward her, but then as corteously as she could she stated: „Laurel, at your's!" They smiled at her, but before they could say anything else, Bilbo appeared behind her and looked at their recently arrived guests with exhasperation sighind deeply at their increased disturbance. Kili smiled at Bilbo and said: „You must be Mr. Boggins." Laurel bit her lower lip and averted her gaze to the floor to disguise her amusement at the mispronounciation of her cousin's last name and she heard him say with exasperation dripping from his every word, no longer mindful of his manners: „No you can't come in. You have come to the wrong house." Her head snapped up at him, due to his rudeness and she was looking at him with appaled disbelief, as he proceeded to close the door on their visits' face. But Kili stopped them from being shut out and he asked with alarm: „Has it been cancelled?" „Nobody told us.", his brother added, similarly confused and eyeing Bilbo with slight suspicion. Both Bilbo and Laurel furrowed their brows and Bilbo proceeded to say in a cautious tone: „No, nothing has been cancelled." Kili once more beamed at him and he proceeded to shove past Bilbo and walk into Bag End, his brother following him in a cocky strut.

Fili was handing Bilbo his weapons and was admonishing and reminding him to be careful with them, while Kili was stood in the hall and was looking at his surroundings with interest. Then his gaze fell on Laurel, who was stood leaned against the wooden pillar in the hall with her arms crossed out in front of her. He let his gaze roam over her form and his lips twisted into a small grin at what he saw and he proceeded to say: „It's very nice… this place." He then turned toward Bilbo and asked: „Have you done it yourself?" Bilbo who was wary and slightly trepidated, because Fili was still handing him his weapons and he sated: „No, it has been in my family for many years.." His voice rose in alarm, when he saw that Kili was no longer paying him any mind and was proceeding to clean his shoes on Belladonna's embroidery box. Then dwalin arrived and led both Fili and Kili to the dining hall to prepare for the other other guests that were bound to arrive. Laurel simply stood indecisively in the hall looking at the four dwarves who were rearranging the tables and the chairs to create more space in the rather small dining room, while she heard Bilbo's annoyed voice bellow through Bag End, saying that there were already to many dwarves in their home. It had not even begun, but Laurel had the nagging premonition that this night would change the course of both her and Bilbo's life.

* * *

She was stood beside a flustered and furious Bilbo, who she feared was moments from exploding in undiluted rage. It was half an hour, since the arrival of the last of the dwarves and Gandalf the Wizard, who apparently was the responsible one for this unnanounced evening visit. And the intervall between then and now had been a bustle of movement, excitement and activity to her with the dwarves going about the house and gathering food and beverages and stools, so that all would have a place to sit in the dining hall, that almost seemed to burst with the amount of people that were currently in it and the excitement and joyous mood they all radiated. She did have to admit that she was slightly delighted at their guests, despite the pandemonium they had created in their serene night, but she had been in awe of how different each dwarf appeared, but how they all still reminded her of the brave adventurers she had read about and revered during her childhood. Bilbo however was all but delighted and he was more worried about Belladonna's china, which she herself had not minded as much, when she had been alive and at the fact that the dwarves were creating a disorder in his neatly and tightly-laced household.

As she felt the annoyance practically radiate of him, she rolled her eyes and proceeded to go to the kitchen and cleanse some of the dishes that were stacked on the counter, in hopes of appeasing Bilbo and his fear of disorder. She soon heard the heavy and purposeful stride of a man entering the room and she turned toward the source of the stride to be met with Gandalf the Grey, who was looking down at her with a curious, yet kind, weathered face and he said in a low, but warm voice: „Laurel Arya Took, daughter of Benji and Elauriel Took. You have grown, last time I saw you you were but a small imp of a hobbit lass, who hid behind Belladonna's skirt and gazed up at me shily with her savage red hair hiding her pretty features." She smiled at him beatifically and said: „I had spent but eighteen summers on Middle Earth. Fifteen more have passed, since that time. I was bound to change after such long a time." He chuckled good-naturedly and said: „Yes, I suppose you were. Belladonna was always so found of you, that she infected me with some of that fondness. It is because of that, that I would advice you to keep your mother's heritage a secret around the dwarves, my dear. They are quite hard-headed and stubborn creatures and many do not take too kindly to elves. I believe that you would not be fairly treated, if they were to know that you were even half-elf." He had stated this with the same jovial smile, but the solemnity behind his words was not lost on Laurel and at the advice of the wizard, who she knew to be one of the wisest being of Middle Earth, she did not ponder the implications of his warning and simply nodded her acquiescence and kept his warning in mind.

Soon she heard the sound of singing and she quickly moved out of the kitchen to investigate the new sound and was met by the sight of Fili throwing one of Bilbo's precious plates to his brother. She could hear the sound of the utensils being banged on the wooden table and she heard the deep and slightly unmelodic voices of Kili and Fili singing, and soon the whole of Bag End was filled with the sound of the dwarf's jovial singing:

_Blunt the knives and bend the forks!_

_Smash the bottles and burn the corks!_

_Chip the glasses and crack the plates!_

_That's what Bilbo Baggins hates_

_Cut the cloth and trail the fat!_

_Leave the bones on the bedroom mat!_

_Pour the milk on the pantry floor!_

_Splash the wine on every door!_

_Dump the crocks in a boiling bowl_

_Pound them up with a thumping pole;_

_And when you've finished, if they are whole,_

_Send them down the hall to roll!_

_That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!_ When they had finished their singing both Bilbo and Laurel had quickly moved tot he kitchen, where the plates had been thrown into. Now even she was worried, because the dwarves had used the whole of their china and if all was broken, both her and Bilbo would have a problem. But when they entered the kitchen and saw the stacks of plates, that were unharmed she relaxed and joined the dwarves in their boisterous laughter by emiting a small chuckle. She felt Bilbo's posture unstiffen somewhat, but saw that he was still regarding their visitors with a terse and worried expression. She put her hand on his arm to redirect his attention to her and then she whispered lowly, to not be overheard over the deep sound of the men's laughter: „Bilbo, calm down!"

But when they heard two strong and ominous sounding knocks on the entrance door, the laughter of the dwarves subsided and a serious and solemn atmosphere blanketed itself over them and replaced the carefreeness that had previously inhabited these halls. Through a inexplicable haze of anticipation that had packed her, she heard Gandalf's deep voice ominously state: „He's here."


	8. Orbs of the Blessed

_"Bright be the place of thy soul! No lovelier spirit than thine E'er burst from its mortal control In the orbs of the blessed to shine." Bright be the place of thy soul- Lord Byron_

They had all moved toward the entrance like a rehearsed, solemn procision. Any previous traces of cheer and jubilation had been swept away and had been replaced by an expectant and almost reverent solemnity, as the twelve dwarves had followed Gandalf to the entrance door, from where the ominous knocks had sounded and she and Bilbo had followed them, also in anticipatory silence, as if they had been infected by the dwarves' mood, eventhough both of them did not know, what or who had caused such a sudden and dramatic shift of mood. She was stood beside Fili, her arms crossed out infront of her chest in a subconsciously defensive stance and she was standing on the tip of her toes to be able to see what was occuring in the front, because she was stood in the far back, a mass of dwarves who were at least a few inches taller than her, in front of her, obscuring her view. She heard the creaking of the metal hinges, a shrieking sound which, with the tension in the room, sounded foreboding, as Gandalf opened the door and then she heard a deep, baritone voice: „Gandalf! I thought you said this place wasn't hard to find. I lost my way twice. I wouldn't have found it at all, if it hadn't been for the mark on the door." The voice was accented and slightly liliting, yet still raspy and guttural, but differently from the roaring, throaty voice of Dwalin. A shiver ran down Laurel's spin, which at the time she had attributed to the chillt hat had swept through Bag End, due to the open door. She could feel how at the arrival of this man, the dwarves had straightened and she could practically feel the respect oozing of their forms.

Curious to see the man, who would have such an effect on this boisterous and unruly assembly of men, who had acted jovial and carefree until he had made his arrival known with the two knocks on the door, that had caused silence to descend over the halls that had been so noisy only minutes ago, she turned to Fili, who was stood beside her and who had been acting quite youthful and playful with his brother previously according to his young age, but who now held himself rigidly with solemnity and responsibility exuding from him, and she asked him in a soft whisper: „Who has arrived Fili?" Out of the corner of his eyes, he glanced at her and gave her a tight smile, when recognizing her awed curiosity and he stated: „That would be Thorin Oakenshield." He said nothing more than that, as if the name should have been explanation enough, though Laurel remained as unknowing and confused as previous. She knew that the man was of importance, the reaction to his arrival had told her as much, but he was not simply a figure of respect to these men. The way Fili had said his name in an awed and reverent way made her question, who he was, why Fili had felt that it was no further explanation than his given title was needed and that she should have known who he was by his name alone. She now longed to look upon this man and wondered what his appearance would be. Would he be a battle-hardened warrior just like Dwalin, with hard eyes and an intense gaze? Or would he be more like Balin, a wise and elderly man, whose knowledge you could see in his eyes and who you could detect with a single glance had traveled far and wide through Middle Earth?

„Bilbo Baggins, allow me to introduce the leader of this company: Thorin Oakenshield", she heard Gandalf's warm voice introduce the man to her cousin. The leader, he was the leader. She could now understand why all had turned so solemn and respecting when he had arrived, he was most definitely a fiercely-respected leader, one that all these twelve man were almost in awe of it seemed. The crowd had still not dispersed and the impenetrable wall they builded prevented her from seeing the occurences that were taking place closer to the entrance. „So.. this ist he hobbit.", he said and she had to strain her pointy ears, because she had wondered if she had detected a mocking tendril weaving through his words, or if she had only imagined it, because his voice betrayed his self-assuredness at the fact he knew that he was of such high-standing and that his mere presence waranted solemn respect. „Tell me, Mr. Baggins, have you done much fighting?" She started slightly at the question stated by the deep, accented voice. She did not know if it was a tradition of the dwarves to ask about battle skills during an introduction, but none of the others had, being too busy gathering food and drink to satiate their needs. „Axe or swords? What is your weapon of choice?" Bilbo had just as little knowledge of fighting as her, so this man was bound to be disappointed at their lack of skill. The only time they had even remotely done anything that resembled fighting was when they had been children and with thin branches that had fallen off trees, they had tried to reenact the battle scenes they had read about in Bilbo's book, and had wildly swung the branches to and fro, with an appaling lack of coordination. So, no, Bilbo and her had no knowledge in fighting and if the man had expected anything else from suburban hobbits of the Shire, he had been vastly disillusioned. She could hear her cousins begrudging answer and she could hear, how he attempted to induce mock-confidence in his voice, while faced with a man that was no doubt intimidating: „Well I do have some skills at conkers, if you must know. But I fail to see how that is of importance." She cringed at her cousin's response and his mention of conkers. She knew that this would carry no weight with the battle-weary fellows before her and then she heard him scoff and then say: „I thought as much. He looks more like a grocer than a burglar to me." She felt indignation rise within her and she bristled at his arrogant and mocking tone. He was cruelly and derisively mocking her cousin. Now the others had teased him as well, but she had not been that angry, because she had seen that they had not been malicious in their comments and that they were playful in nature. But this man… his arrogance, his lack of manners. She felt her temper rise in her, that same fiery indignation that she had always used to defend her cousin with, when he had been teased in their childhood and before she could stop herself and remind herself of the respect and allegiance of the dwarves that surrounded her toward this figure, she spat: „Perhaps you should be more corteous to he that opens his home to you, eventhough you enter, I assure you sir, quite uninvitedly." She was gazing with fire in her eyes in the direction of the man and she took no note of Fili's shocked and wide-eyed expression at her outburst. She was too angry and then she saw how the dwarves moved over no doubt, so that their leader could see who had so disrespectfully admonished him.

And that is when she saw him and momentarily her hot indignation was replaced by surprise and her lips parted slightly as she gazed at the tall and broad form of Thorin Oakenshield. She was surprised at the familiarity she had felt, when she had first seen him. A feeling that was most clandestine when meeting strangers, but this man… it felt as if she had known him previously, as if she had met him before. He did not seem foreign to her, eventhough she was most assured that she had never laid on eyes on him. But there was something so queerly, wonderfully intimate to her as she had first laid eyes on his majestic stance, on his bearded, weathered, but no doubt handsome face, when she had looked into his piercing, startingly blue, yet melancholic eyes and had recirprocated his intense gaze that seemed to penetrate her soul and when she saw his… impassive and slightly mocking gaze that immediately made her regain her composure and remind her of her indignation at his mocking and his ego and she stared angrily at him once more. At regarding her his lips twisted into an infuriating smirk, but he revealed no emotion, none of his thoughts in his gaze as he approached her slowly, and towered over her almost as if he wanted to intimidate her and looked down at her. She met his gaze, determined not to give him the satisfaction to see her squirm under it. He was much too respected by his kin, by his company, he had forgotten his manners in his self-assuredness and she would not bow down. She had admonished him and rightly-so. Heavy and tense silence descended upon them, while they scrutinized the other and she almost felt like a wild animal, as she scornfully and fiercely looked up at him. Gandalf broke the tense silence that had descended and blanketed the entrance hall of Bag End by stating: „Thorin. I would like to introduce you to Laurel and Bilbo Baggins." The dark-haired dwarf made no acknowledgement of the introduction and he continued to gaze at her, challengingly and intimidatingly. They had moved imperceptibly closer, so close that Laurel could sense his smell, which was a mixture of leather and the smoky scent of wood and of rain and it was so purely male and… pleasant, that it had made her breath quicken, though she had assumed that this was due to her indignation at him. His smirk widened and he broke the silence by stating: „You promised me a burglar Gandalf, but instead you get me a master at conkers, who is soft, because his woman has more fire in her than him." She heard the deep and male chuckle of the company, as they laughed at his taunting and it dispelled the discomfort that had descended upon the spectators during their silent, challenging interaction. With a last mocking smirk, he turned around and moved toward the dining hall. At his taunt and his blatant dismissal of her, her nostrils flared and her ire rose and she was prepared to stalk after him and similarly to the way Belladonna had done, when she and Bilbo had been rude to a neighbour or had taken their mischievious pranks too far, she had been prepared to lecture him. Confound him and his undeniable majesticness, his respect-demanding, solemn presence. She would not be dettered by the fact that he was the leader and a figure of respect for the dwarves, she was after all not a dwarf.

She had just made to move after him and the company with her nostrils flaring, when she felt her cousin's grip on her arms, that seemed to want to stop her. She looked at him questioningly and she saw him shake his head slightly, a disciplining look in his eyes as he had gathered her intent. „Leave it be, Laurel", he whispered to her softly and she looked at him and his passivness disbelievingly. „He was mocking you in your own home, Bilbo. Humiliating you. You can not truly ask me to accept that. Not when I have half a mind to throw the man and his entire company out of our home." He shook his head and exhaled heavily and she could see that his posture had softened, and that with his sigh he had managed to exhale some of the tension that had kept his body as stiff as a rod during their encounter with Thorin Oakenshield. She ground her teeth together and seeing his cousin's fierce obstinance he said: „It will do you no good. It shall only make the dwarve resent you for disrespecting their leader." She closed her eyes, because he did have a point and now that he had prevented her from going after him in the heat of her rage and she had cooled down she could recognize how foolish and flippant it would have been toward the others, if she had admonished and disciplined their leader like a naughtly child. She nodded her head and carefully extracted her arms from Bilbo's gaze, but she still contemptously said: „I hate that you have to take this slight without saying a word in your own home." She raised her gaze to look at Bilbo and saw him smiling sadly at her and shrugging his shoulders. She felt him take her shoulders and he silently expressed his gratitude at her fierce defending. How she had remained true to him, just the same way as in their childhood. „Would you get the leader of the company some oft he stew that you made for lunch. The other dwarves have completely raided the pantry, I don't think there is anything else left." She looked at him with indignation again resurfacing, indignation at having to serve and be hospitable to this infuriating man. Bilbo seeing the glint in her eyes, attempted to hide his smile of amusement and good-naturedly he rolled his eyes and stated: „Please, Laurel, just do it." Then he turned and followed the dwarves' path to the dining hall. Laurel went to the kitchen and did as her cousin had asked of her.

* * *

Exhaustion and disappointment. Those were the two feelings that were most prominent in Thorin Oakenshield as he sat upon the cushioned stool at the table, where his company was gathered around in the hobbit hole. He felt weary after the long journey that he had undertaken from the Iron Hills to the village of Hobbiton in the Shire. He had ridden, barely making a stop to rest, eager to arrive for the council and to meet the burglasr, that the wizard had talked and complimented so greatly. He had been elated, something that he had not felt for so long. Not since that day in Erebor, where that blasted beast had taken everything from him. His home, his title, his pride, yet had given him so much in return, as a perverse compensation for all that it had taken, which had been his by birth and divine right. How it had given him guilt over the fate and distitution of his people, that had once been so mighty, and that had been brought low by that dragon and by… his grandfather. He still felt pain at the realization he had come to a few years ago. It had been his grandfather and his sickness of the mind that had festered in Erebor's halls and had attracted the dragon, because dragons covet gold and all knew that the treasures at Erebor were vast beyond comparison and his grandfather had hoarded so much gold to satiate his greed. And it had attracted the dragon, who had wanted the gold for himself. The man, who had been an idol for him in his youth, who he had admired like no other, not even his father, who had taught him everything he knew, and whose model of a leader Thorin had wished to follow. The same man, whose cruel and shocking decaptitation by that Orcish filth had caused him so much pain and rage. So yes, it had been his grandfather's avariciousness and his own incapability at fending of the dragon and protecting his people that had brought his mighty race low. He also felt asphyxiating, crushing responsibility, he had tried to find a good replacement for their home, he had tried to make a good life for his people, but he knew that nothing would ever compare to Erebor, to the mighty, beautiful halls that ran deep in the mountain, to the walls, that had streams of gold running through them, to their incomparable wealth there. He knew nothing would ever compare not to his people and not to him, who was haunted daily be a fierce longing for his youthhood home and for the title and station that were rightfully his.

When he had met Gandalf and the wizard had made the preposition of reclaiming Erebor for the first time in decades, he had not felt those heavy and overwhelming feelings, not felt the constant Anger that fester within him, but he had felt elation and motivation, which had only been strengthened when Balin and Dwalin, his most loyal and trusted allies, who he knew to be fierce warriors, had agreed to help him reclaim their home. He had also been filled with pride at the bravery of his nephews, when they had been adamant, despite their mother's reservation, to join him on his quest. His company, they were not the most skilled warriors, most of them were toymakers and tradesmen, but he did not care, because the most important thing was that when he had called these twelve had come and he could ask no more than their loyal and willing hearts. And then when Gandalf had suggested a pair of veteran hobbit burglars to deceive their dragon, Thorin had thought that perhaps there was a chance that they could be succesful, that he would be able to stand in his halls once more, before he met his death. So he had come to Hobbiton and while he had been disconcerted by the suburban environment of the settlement, he had not been deterred to come to the council in the hobbit hole, called Bag End.

But then disappointment had taken a fierce hold of his heart and he had once more grown bitter and sceptic of their quest. This soft, small, chubby man was who Gandalf expected to deceive and overpower the dragon Smaug, who not even he and the entire of the royal guard had been able to stop that day, when he had lost everything. He had at first thought that the wizard had been jesting, because he had heard in many a tale that Gandalf the Grey was wise and sensible, yet the wizard had proven this allegations to be disappointingly erroneous, by suggesting that he take that delicate and homey hobbit on the road. He would never be able to withstand Smaug's fierceness, if he even managed to stay alive on the road for so long. He had been expecting a stealthy and cunning team of burglars, but he had arrived and had been introduced to a bumbling, flustered fool of a hobbit, who was a master at conkers and to that young woman.

He was drawn out of his thoughts by a bowl of warm, hearty stew being banged on the table in front of him with such a force that it made a loud thud and some of the soup had spilled over at the impulse. He turned his head and looked up at her with an impassive and questioning gaze and he saw her look down at him challengingly with those impossibly blue, firey eyes, willing him to provoke her, willing him for something, anything so that she could release some of her unveiled frustration at him with a justification. He raised his eyebrow at her and smirked at her mockingly, yet she was the first to break the gaze and move away from him toward where the other burglar was located. At least the girl had spirit and did not seem as suburban and subdued as her husband, but he could never take one, who looked as fragile as her on this journey. He had to admit that he had been slightly more amused than indignated, when the girl had felt the need to admonish him for his behaviour toward Master Baggins. He should have put the girl in her place, should have admonished her and castigated the young girl, like a child, a stage of life she had no doubt just exited judging by the youth of her features. But he had found it amusing, that a girl as small and delicate as her had displayed more fierceness and fire than her husband, that she had had no qualms to call him out on his behaviour and that eventhough she appeared quite fragile, she had displayed obstinance and a head-strong nature that had greatly contrasted with his first impression of her. But even in face of her display of defying him, even when she was no doubt aware of his standing in the company, he was not moved to take them, as he did not want to be responsible for either of their fate, but knew that he would no doubt be keeping survaillance over them, if they were to come. He knew that his twelve could take care of themselves, but he doubted that that was the case with these two hobbits and he knew that responsibility for their safety would fall upon his shoulders, if he were to take them with the company. And responsibility had been one feeling that had plagued him all his life, there had never been a shortage of it. He did not require any more. His focus had to solely lie with the quest.

„What of the meeting at Ered Luin? Did they all come?" Balin asked him in his weathered voice. He was eating the warm stew that had been served to him and he answered after he had swallowed: „Aye and they sent envoys from all the seven kingdoms." He said this with satisfaction, that a council that would be invoked by him would have such a high number of participants and that it would be headed by all seven kingdoms. His pride was reflected by the member of his companies, as they emmited murmurs of agreement and content. „What did the dwarves of the Iron Hills say? Is Dain with us?", Dwaling asked. He laid down the spoon and with renewed disappointment couring through him, he exhaled heavily and said: „They will not come." He heard the indignation of his company, but focused on Dwalin and saw that the veteran and fierce warrior had closed his eyes in disappointment, but also in cognizance, as if he had known what Thorin's answer would be. As if he had also been there and had experienced the same disappointment and betrayal that Thorin had when Dain had declared that they would not aid his company. The dwarves of the Iron Hills that had been one of Erebor's closest allies, when his dinasty had been at its most wealthy peak. Who had supported them and been at their side, when they had been affluent and powerful, but now that Thorin had nothing to offer them, but the certainty of peril and hazard during the quest would not aid them. „So this quest is ours and ours alone.", he stated with self-assuredness and confidence, in hopes of evoking those feelings within his company, which were so sorely lacking within him, especially after he had seen the burglars that Gandalf had envisioned for their company.

„You're going on a quest?" The hobbit's voice piped up and immediately the attention of all, but Thorin was redirected to the two hobbits, who had been standing off to the side and had silently observed the proceedings from a neutral stance. „Bilbo, Laurel, my dear fellows. Let us have a little more light.", the wary voice of the wizard beseeched the hobbits, who immediately moved to acquiesce to the wizard's wishes. Both the girl and Master Baggins, the latter who was holding a candle in his hands to provide more illumination, as the wizard had stated moved toward the table and stood in front of the map that Gandalf had laid out on the table and that showed the location of his native homeland. „Far to the east, over ranges and rivers. Beyond woodlands and wastelands lies a single solitary peak." At the wizard's explanation, Thorin once more grew longing and he was once more reminded of the wealthy stone, which his kingdom had consisted of, the impenetrable nature of their fortress and the unlimited power of his line. „The lonely mountain". He was shaken out of his thoughts by a soft and awed whisper, which came from his left and he turned his head to see that the girl was stood by his side and was looking at the map before her with almost childlike and undiluted awe. At seeing the look of wonder in her blue eyes and how her ivory skin and her vibrantly red hair seemed to almost glow, because of the light that was being emitted by the candle the hobbit at her right held, Thorin felt warmth rise in his chest and startled, he quickly averted his gaze to dispell this sensation that had arosen from looking at the burglar girl. „Aye.", came the deep voice of Gloin „Oin has read the portents and the portents say it is time." Another member of his company had piped up and said: „Ravens have been seen flying back to Erebor. As it was foretold and when they have flown back to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end." The worried voice of the burglar had disrupted the calm narrative and speculation of the dwarves and he had asked with his voice rising slightly out of fear: „Beast? What Beast." Bofur, who was sat at Thorin's right-hand-side answered in his heavily accented, throaty voice: „That would be a reference to Smaug, the Terrible. Gravest calamaty of our age." He saw how the hobbit had stiffened and out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the girl turn toward the hobbit and regard him worriedly with concern. „Airborne firebreather. Teeth like razors, claws like meathooks. Extremely fond of precious metals." He heard her soft and breathy whisper: „A dragon." Master Baggins said, wringing his hands: „Yes I know what a dragon is."

The youngest of their company, Ori, a boy he had also been reluctant to have as part of their company for his pacifistic and tranquil nature, stood and said with youthful arrogance: „I am not afraid, I am up for it. I say let's give him a taste of dwarfish metal right up his jacksie." He supressed his amusement at the boy's self-assuredness and his mock-confidence, remembering the time, almost ten decades ago when he had behaved in a similar way, unheeding of danger, believing himself to be invincible. He had been cruelly made aware of his vulnerability, of reality that day that Smaug had come. At the boy's display an annoyed murmur went through the company and he was pulled back down to sit on his stool, perfectly admonished by his elder brother. „Even with an army by our side it would be difficult to defeat Smaug. And we number only thirteen and not even thirteen of the strongest. Or brightest." Balin, his wise councellor, voiced the reality that had been perturbing Thorin throughout the length of the evening. He was fond of his company and treasured them for their willingness and their allegiance, but he was not oblivious to their shortcomings. He heard his eldest nephew's confident and slightly cocky voice: „We may be few in number, but we are fighters, all of us to the last one." Fili banged his hand upon the table and then he let his gaze, that already bore traits of the one a leader possessed, wander over his company, until it came to rest for a few long seconds at Thorin's left, where the girl was stood and he saw that his nephew's boyish face contorted as a proud smile took seat upon it, wishing to impress the woman by his side and Thorin could not help, but resent the fact that his nephew was trying to impress a woman that was already married, that he was making a fool of himself and he sent a warning glance to both his nephews, whom he had seen glancing at the girl a few times. Soon the discussion moved to Gandalf and his encounters with dragons and then a fierce and heated argument started amongst his company with many of them having risen and verbally fighting with the one sat opposite of them.

Thorin'd had enough of his company's speculation about the quest and their success, which not even he was quite sure of. He did not like to see the doubt he felt reflected in his company, that had been so assured of their suceeding, who had come to him in hopes that they could help him reclaim their homelands. So he stood and he exclaimed in Khuzdul and immediately quarreling dwarves returned to their seats and listened to him as he spoke with confidence and in hopes of raising inspiration within them: „If we have read these signs, do you think others will not have read them too? Rumours have begun to spread, the dragon Smaug has not been seen for sixty years. Eyes look east to the mountain, assessing, wondering, weighing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of our people, now lies unprotected. Do we sit back, while others seize what is rightfully ours, or do we take this chance to take back Erebor." As his speech came to an end, his company cheered in agreement and with their otimistic spirits restored, Thorin too felt more confident in their quest and he had spoken honestly, wishing to not only convince his company, but also himself. He sat himself back down, appeased by the cheering of his people and pointedly ignoring the warmth in his back, from where he could feel her gaze trained on him. Yet Balin, the constant voice of reason, once more found a limitation to their undertaking due to the front gate, that was locked. Then Gandalf produced a key and he almost did not dare to believe that it was what he imagined it to be and he stared at Gandalf wide-eyed and with awe. „How came you by this?", he whispered hoarsely. „It was given to my by Thrain, by your father. For safe-keeping. It is your's now." And as he took the cool metal from Gandalf's outstretched hands, he felt power course through and fort he first time, he felt hope. He felt hope that he could truly go back and reclaim his gold. That he could return home.

While he scrutinized the key, Gandalf proceeded to discuss the runes on the map, that talked about a hidden entrance tot he mountain and how the runes revealed the location, but he could not read them. „The task I have in mind will require a great deal of stealth and no small amount of courage But if we are careful and clever, I believe it can be done." He then looked to his right behind Thorin and supposedly at the pair of Hobbits, that were stood a little to the side. He heard her say contemplatively: „Well, you shall probably require of a burglar." The hobbit at her side snorted and in agreement he said: „And a mighty good one at that. An expert I'd imagine." He turned around to gaze at both Master and Mistress Baggins to see their reactions, when Balin asked them: „And are you two?" He saw the girl's eyes widen and then the two Hobbits simultaneously looked at each other with astonishment and confusion written on their faces and their expressions did not inspire confidence at their ability in Thorin. Slowly, as if almost fearful of the answer, the hobbit lad asked: „Are we what?" One of the dwarves happily piped up: „He said they are experts." „No, no, no, no. We are no burglars. We have never stolen anything in our lives." „I am afraid I shall have to agree with Mr. Baggins. He and the lass are hardly burglar-material." Balin said and Dwalin added: „The wild is no place for gentle folk, who can not fight or fare for themselves." Soon another argument between the dwarves had started, but the lad, who was not a burglar looked visibly relieved, while she had lowered her gaze to the floor and was staring at the wooden floor with an unreadable expression in her eyes. The discussion was cut short by Gandalf, who rose from his seat and said in an angered and serious tone: „Enough if I say, Laurel and Bilbo Baggins are burglars, than burglars they are. I can still remember the solstice festivals, when Bilbo and Laurel would steal the Old Baggins' handkerchief and no one would know for weeks, who the culprits were. Yes, there have never been truer friends than Laurel and Bilbo Baggins." He looked behind him to see that while both Hobbits looked still distinctly worried, their lips had twisted into small, affectionate and nostalgic smiles at the memories that Gandalf's words had called forth. He saw how the golden-haired, chubby man looked down to the lass and grinned affectionately at her and in response she was smiling up at him so lovingly, genuinely and brightly that he'd had to do a double take. He saw how the hobbit had put his arm around her delicate waist and how she had stood on the tip of her toes to slightly peck his cheek.

He turned away from the display of affection, as he felt an abrasive and biting feeling spread through his stomach. For some reason, which he could not explain he had come to resent the hobbit lad much more during the last seconds. He did not like witnessing the tenderness between this married couple. It was not that dwarves were highly conservative, his parents had also been affectionate toward one another in front of him. Yet he still did not like seeing the lad and the lass together. He tightened his jaw and at listening to the wizard's continued explanations of how Hobbits were light on their feet and their smell would not be recognized by Smaug, differently from the scent of dwarves, which the Dragon was quite familiar with; he acquiesced to the wizard's demands. He took the contract off Balin and without glaning back, knowing that Master Baggins was stood behind him, he shoved the contract into the man's chest, with a bit more force than necessary judging by the ‚oomph' their burglar emitted. The lad proceeded to exit the dining hall, while she moved toward him to take the bowl of stew that lay empty before him. As he gazed at her profile and at the slender curve of her neck, he questioned the wisdom of having allowed this girl to come with them. She did have spirit from what he had seen, but she was too fragile, too delicate and he wondered if she would be able to fend for herself. It was not because she was a woman. Thorin did not make any distinction between genders, especially due to the fact that many dwarven women were equally as fierce and skilled in battle as the men and that the genders were often indistinguishable from one another. But she… she was so different from the women he had previously met. She was for one so much smaller, and she did not look as if she had a single strong bone in her body. She did not possess of the same hard angles, as the dwarven women, but she was soft and satiny seemed impossibly warm, with her skin unmarred and her ivory complexion undeterred by any scar. This one was too tender and delicate for the wild, he had decided and he rued to take her, but he knew that Gandalf would insist on this girl and as the girl moved away, he rose from the chair and with complete conviction he said to Gandalf: „I will not be responsible for their safety, or for their fates." He saw how Gandalf contemplatively studied him and then he said: „Agreed." The next thing he heard was the sound of a body falling to the ground and the lass' alarmed voice, as she called out the name of the burglar, who had fainted at Bofur's description of the dragon.

Annoyance, that is another feeling that was rather prominent within Thorin Oakenshield that night.


	9. Ode of Spirits and compassion

„ _Oh! think not my spirits are always as light, And as free from a pang as they seem to you now, Nor expect that the heart-beaming smile of to-night Will return with to-morrow to brighten my brow." Oh! Think not my spirits are always as light- Thomas Moore_

„I would take each and every one of those dwarves over an army from the Iron Hills. For when I called upon them, they answered. Loyalty, Honour and a willing Heart… I can ask for no more than that."

Balin sighed as he heard the words of his king. The response Thorin had given, when Balin had finally voiced his doubts and trepidations about the quest him and the rest of Thorin's company were to undertake. He was honest, he did not believe that they would be successful in their undertaking. He could still vividly recall the day Erebor had been taken. He could still smell the smoke, the charring on the tip of his grey beard. The desperate cries of the women and the wounded warriors, replayed itself like an eternal melody in his ear that had already become less skilled to distinguish discreet sounds. Him and Thorin were the only ones in the company, who had been in Erebor that day. Who could vividly recall the devastation, the desperation that, that firedrake had caused. Dwalin had been but a child during that time and, differently from his elder brother, he had not been obliged to face the calamity, the fire, the explosion that had sent the royal guard flying. The strongest of men in Erebor, flying like helpless puppets through the air. Only him and Thorin truly knew the extents of Smaug's power, only they knew the reality of what truly awaited them behind the sealed gates of Erebor, where the beast surely still lay, festering like a cancer and guarding their gold, that had been long-forgotten by any of their kin, except by him and Thorin.

He eyed the man before him. His leader, his king, his friend. He could see the wariness and the exhaustion in Thorin's stormy eyes. This was one that'd had to mature and grow up much too quickly. He supposed that all descendants to the throne had. That since birth crown princes were groomed to become mature, solemn, responsible and able to carry the weight of a kingdom on their shoulders. Since Thorin's birth, his grandfather Thror had taken measures that Thorin would be tutored and learned in the skills required for a king. The task had fallen on Balin's shoulder, he'd taught Thorin what his grandfather had wished for him to know and Thorin had proved the most able pupil. Before his eyes, the young dwarf boy who, at the beginning of his tuition, had been unable to wield even the lightest of swords and had been more interested in wandering his grandfather's kingdom and watching the miners collect and harvest the wealth, that sprung from the walls of their home, had transformed and grown to become the fiercest and most able warrior within Erebor's halls. He had become impertinent, ingenious and keen, something that had been achieved through long and laborious lessons. He had watched the lad become a proud and meritorious representative of the kingdom of Thror. Yet Balin, who had been not only a tutor, but a dear and loyal companion to the prince, had only realized at the battle of Azanulbizar, as they accounted for all they had lost, despite having been victorious, when Thorin had stood solemnly after having defeated Azog with his oaken branch as a shield and overlooked his weary warriors, radiating silent authority, that his charge, his pupil was a king. One whose rule could even rival his grandfather's, who had been a just and valiant leader, until he had been seized by that terrible gold sickness.

He could still remember the day, when Thorin, who at the time had been approximately Fili's age, had come up to him and had entrusted him with his worry over his grandfather's declining sanity. Over the corruption, over the avariciouness he could see growing and festering within Thror. Yet Balin had known, naturally he was not as close as Thorin to Thror, but he had seen how, shortly after the Arkenstone had come into the Durin's folk possession, Thror's love of gold had become more and more fierce. How he had increased the miner's work hours and had ordered them to go deeper and deeper into the heart of Erebor, disregarding the danger this work environment could have. No, in the last days before Smaug's arrival, Thror's greed had overriden his care and compassion for his people. Thorin had come to him, to his tutor, and had entrusted him with his worry over his grandfather and his increasingly corrupted regime. He had also entrusted Balin with his fear, that the same tendril of greed that had become fertilised and become substantial within Thror, slumbered within him. The young prince had feared that he could become equally debauched and that his love of gold would supersede his morality, his love and sense of responsibility toward his people. Balin had tried to console the young prince and rid him of his insecurities. Thorin had been appalled and worried, when he had seen the unnecessarily cruel measures that Thror had taken against a miner, that had wanted to keep one of the numerous jewels he had found in the walls of the Lonely Mountain. Previously, when Thror had been more sound of mind, he would have simply imprisoned the man. Yet, now that greed usurped his compassion, his punishment had become more carnal and pitiless, when the man had gotten both his hands removed. Thorin, who had been taught throughout his infancy, that a sovereign and just rule was not only decided on the disciplinary capability of the king, but also on when it was wise to show mercy, had been shocked by his grandfather's decree. It had been a shock to him, when Thorin had confided in him and had seemed vulnerable in face of that display he had witnessed, confirming Thror's lunacy over his treasures. To Balin it had seemed as if the young dwarf prince had long shed any insecurity, any vulnerability. But that day, he had once more glimpsed a fleeting image of his young pupil, who had felt overwhelmed at the expectations, that had been thrust upon him, since he had first learned to walk. He had tried to console the young prince. He had told him, that all creatures possessed a tendril of something within them, that could corrupt them, be it greed, cruelty, or whatever else. It was possible for all creatures to become corrupted, and only the individual themself could prevent their downfall, by being strong and not giving into the siren call of nepotism.

He had watched the lad, who has king, before him, grow up and though he knew that their quest would likely prove unfruitful, especially with the knowledge that the royal guard had been unable to stop Smaug and knowing that their company contained no legendary warriors, except perhaps Thorin and Dwalin, yet when Thorin called upon him and he had recognized the longing within Thorin to return to Erebor, he had not been able to refuse his leader, his friend. Balin, himself did not long to return to Erebor. He did sometimes grow nostalgic, when he remembered the vast wealth of his former home, when he remembered their strength and the durability of this power. Yet he had grown content and appeased with the life, that Thorin had given them in the Blue Mountains. He knew, though, that Thorin did not share his sentiments. He did not only long for his halls, for his inheritance. He also felt responsibility toward his people, he felt that he owed the experience of Erebor's wealth to his subjects. That he could only find liberation and peace from his tormenting responsibility and the guilt he felt, at being unable to stop Smaug that day, by reclaiming Erebor and the wealth that therein lay.

He was shaken out of his thoughts by the sound of soft footfalls on the wooden floor of Master and Mistress Baggins' home. He looked to the side to see the lass coming out of the room, which she and Gandalf had vanished in after having taken the Hobbit Lad, who had fallen unconscious, when the true extents of this quest's hazard had become known to him. He saw that out of the corner of her eyes, she spied them and after having seen them, she stopped in her trajectory and turned to them, smiling politely and with a melliflous voice, she stated: „Good night." In response, he gave her a small smile and bid her the same. He saw that Thorin did not answer to her bid having not even turned in her direction, but he did give her a slight nod of his head to signify that he had acknowledged her greeting. Yet when the lass turned around and moved toward her room, he saw how Thorin had imperceptibly shifted and was looking at the lass' retreating back with something akin to intensity.

He did not know what had prompted him to ask Thorin the next question. If an explanation was required, Balin would have blamed his fatherly concern for Thorin, but there was something else, a queer feeling, that strangely resembled premonition that Balin had gotten, when he studied Thorin's gaze at Mistress Baggins and so he asked, simply following this newly invoked nagging: „Is this truly what you want, Thorin? You don't have to do this. You have a choice." Thorin's attention was pulled back to him, when Balin rose and stood before his king to further reiterate his belief in what he was saying to Thorin. He saw how Thorin's gaze grew pensive and contemplative, as he said the next words: „You have done honourably by our people. You have built a new life for us in the Blue Mountains. A life of peace and plenty, a life that is worth all the gold on Erebor. It is time you built a life for yourself Thorin. It is time that you think about yourself for a change." He said this words with vehement confidence, because he believed them to be true. Thorin had always put caring for his people before his own happiness. Even before they had been displaced by Smaug, Thorin had always been almost painfully aware of his responsibilities as a descendant to the throne and had focused his entire attentions on his education. He had always been a solemn man. While other dwarves his age had been out enjoying their youth by indulging in beer and the amorous sorts of activity, Thorin had been learning diplomatic skills and making agreements with the merchants from Dale considering the prices of ware. He knew that Thorin had never considered getting married and having a family, a wife that would care for him. In his youth, there had been a princess from the Iron Hills, that he had been betrothed to, as king under the Mountain. Yet the bond had not come to fruition, due to Smaug's attack. The princess had been the closest that Thorin had ever gotten to a wife, yet Balin knew that Thorin would only have married her, due to the will of his grandfather and not out of love. Balin often pondered, whether they perhaps would have grown to love one another, after years of marriage, similarly as Thrain and Thorin's mother had. Yet from what Balin had witnessed, Thorin'd had only indifference to spare for the young dwarf princess.

If it had been anyone else but Balin, they would not have recognized the few seconds of hesitation that Thorin had, before giving his answer. They would not have realized, that as Master Baggins came out of the room, that he had been talking in with Gandalf and entered through the same door, the hobbit lass had vanished through just a few minutes prior, no doubt entering their marital chamber, that Thorin's eyes darkened the slightest fraction, before he raised the key that Gandalf had given him and said in the most self-assured tone: „From my grandfather to my father, this has come to me. They dreamt of the day the dwarves of Erebor would reclaim their homeland. There is no choice, Balin. Not for me." Balin sighed wearily at Thorin's mention of Thror and Thrain. No doubt the lad's almost obsessive sense of responsibility came from his need to earn both his father's and his gradfather's admiration and acceptance. Since his youth, Thorin had wanted to earn this and had taken streinous efforts to do so. And as Balin looked into Thorin's eyes and saw the longing for Erebor and the nostalgia at his father and grandfather's memory, he knew that he would be unable to deny his leader, his companion anything, so he said: „Then we shall see that it gets done, laddie."

* * *

She had taken the pins out of her hair and was brushing her red curls, which savagely tumbled down her back, when she heard the door open and in the mirror, she saw the reflection of her cousin entering the room. Even from his reflection, in the sparse illumination of her room, that a solitary candle provided, she could sense his worry and so she lay down her brush and turned toward him, beckoning him to her with a small smile. She had known that he would have wanted to talk to her about the occurences of this night. She knew that he would have been in a turmoil, and since until now they had always entrusted each other with their deepest and most abiding worries, she knew that he would have come to her room tonight. He took the stool, that was stood beside her door and sat himself down before her. For a few seconds neither said anything and Bilbo looked down at his pudgy hands, seemingly lost, as if he no longer remembered why he had come to her, or how to disclose what he had to say to her. Normally, seeing her cousin so out of his depth, she would have instigated the conversation, but in this case she sensed, that it should be him that should actuate their discussion. So she simply allowed indecisive, tense silence to blanket them and she chose to study her cousin's face. She knew him just as well as she knew herself and better than anyone else. To many it would have seemed as if Bilbo Baggins had been untouched by tonight's visitors, or in the very least incredibly exasperated that they had disrupted their comfortable routine, but she knew better. She knew that, despite his misgivings, he had been in awe of the dwarves, creatures they had read about in their youth. She knew that despite his facade of responsibilty and sensibility, the little boy, who had wanted to be her best friend, since the first moment of their acquaintanceship, the little boy who had been her dearest companion, her one friend, her consolement, who had saved her from her all-encompassing grief, was still within Bilbo. She knew that the Tookish streak, that he had tried to obliterate, since his mother's death, had been awakened when the first of the dwarves had started to grace Bag End with their presence. The same hunger for adventure had been activated within him, that coursed within her, but that she had tried to disregard in favour to him. She could recognize how torn he was, how despite the fact that he had vehemently denied any wish to embark on the dwarves' quest, that he had been shaken by their offer. She could recognize that the words Gandalf had spoken, how the old wizard had admonished him for his passivity and his disregard for his daring spirit, had hurt Bilbo and had caused him to reflect on his behaviour, on how his preferences of lifestyle had changed, how Bilbo had gone from wishing to go on the most fantastical quests known on Middle Earth, to worrying about Belladonna's china.

„I do not know what to do." Bilbo broke the silence with his silent confession and immediately Laurel felt pity for the internal conflict her cousin seemed to be experiencing. She could see how he was wringing his hands and his knuckles had turned white in agitation. She sighed softly and laid her warm hands atop of his to stop his ministrations. For the first time, since he had sat down in front of her, his attention was pulled to her and he looked into her eyes. She looked at him with as much amenity she could muster and in a soft whisper she said: „I know. I can see the conflict you are under. But I can not make this choice for you, cousin. This is a decision you must come to yourself." He furrowed his brow and he said: „This is your decision, as well Laurel. You would also be coming on the quest." Again she felt the spike of excitement within her, but she knew that it would be too selfish, if she did this. If she asked this of him, when she could so clearly see his torment, when she knew that if she simply said something, that he would acquiesce to her wishes to accompany Gandalf and the dwarves. But she knew that she could not, she would not think about her own desires, she would think about Bilbo and his fear and the fact that they both would be putting themselves in harm's way and she could possibly loose him. She would not say that she wished to go on the dwarves' quest, that she had been enthralled by the council that had taken place in her dining room. „Yes, I suppose it is. I know you know me well enough, to know how I feel about this Bilbo." She saw him close his eyes, and she knew that he was aware of her desire and that he was battling with himself to give in. He knew her, he knew that she only endured the domestic and suburban atmosphere of Hobbiton out of her friendship and love for him. She cocked her head to the side and she put her right hand on his warm cheek, causing him to open his eyes and regard her, clearly torn: „This was always what we dreamt about as children. When we went to the forest to reenact the scenes in your storybook. This is what we wanted. This is what a part of me still wants." She averted her gaze, as if she feared to see the same disapprovement and contempt, she would see in the gaze of many of the more conservative hobbits. She heard him say: „You grew up in a Baggins' household. Would you truly leave your home?" Reluctantly she shifted her gaze back to him, and she felt relief when she did not see contempt in his eyes, but rather genuine curiosity. She should have known better, she should have known that her dearly beloved cousin would never betray her by developing contempt, when she was honest with him, so with more confidence she stated: „Home is where the heart is Bilbo. It is not necessarily a place." She inhaled deeply and giving in, she said: „It is only a part of me that thrills for adventure, cousin. A silly, infantile remainder of our childhood. I'd rather spend out the rest of my days growing old here in Bag End by your side, than to embark in the most fantastical of adventures. Whatever your decision. I shall be by your side." She saw him straighten at her words and his mask of conflict dropped to give way to his sensible and duteous Baggins' expression and she lowered her eyes, because she knew that her cousin had come to a decision and his next words confirmed what she had suspected: „We are Baggins of Bag End. We have responsibilities. Furthermore, we have no duty toward those arrogant dwarves. I believe we should remain." She nodded her head and despite the fact, that she had promised her contentment with remaining in Bag End, she could not help but feel a tendril of disappointment, as she looked at her cousin.

This was the first time she regarded him and she could not make out, any sliver of her old childhood friend within him. He had changed irrevocably, and so had she. It was only natural, they had grown up after all. She would have been foolish to think that they could always have remained those carefree, daring young infants. They had both grown up and they were both now adults, who had responsibilities, who lived in a tight-knit community. She had duties toward Bilbo, Bag End and Hobbiton. She had been naive and selfish to have wished for anything else. She had always been content in Bag End, this was her haven, her native shore. This was where she had had the fortune of receiving a nurturing and healthy childhood. Why should she wish for anything else, when she already had everything that she needed to be content? Laurel knew that disrupting her content routine and wishing for more, for adventure and excitement, would only lead her down an uncertain path, that could have a fate similar to her mother's as a destination. She knew that eventually she would loose this Tookish streak that still festered within her, especially after seeing what she had wanted to risk in favour of uncertainty. She had come to a decision, she would be happy in Bag End. She would spend out the rest of her days in Bag End and she would have a fulfilled life.

She let go off Bilbo's hand and rose, while putting on her thick, red robe over her white blouse and her green skirt. She let her hair cascade down her back and around her shoulders and she heard Bilbo ask: „Where are you going?" „To inquire whether the dwarves need anything else before I go to sleep." „Haven't we done enough for those confounded dwarves.", she heard him grumble. She smiled and with mock-appalement she turned to him and said: „Where is your hospitality, Bilbo Baggins? Belladonna would smack you around the ears with her kitchen spoon, if she could see your lack of manners. We wouldn't want the company of Thorin Oakenshield to believe we were anything else, but hospitable." He smiled and mock-glared at her, as he exited the room behind her and bid her good night, before he crossed the hall and entered his chambers.

* * *

As she approached the hall, where she and Bilbo would always spend their evenings after having eaten dinner and before retiring fort he night, reading, conversing and simply enjoying each other's company, the sound of glottal humming and rumble grew louder in her ear, and it was not until she stood in the archway leading to her living room observing the dwarves of Thorin Oakenshield's company all assembled and with an anticipatory, solemnity concerning the morning about each of them, that she realised that it was them, who were making the melodic sound. She observed the dwarves and saw how each of their faces, which had at one point in the evening been alight in carefree amusement, had been contorted with melancholic seriousness and something akin to longing nostalgia. She looked at each of the dwarves, and then she heard him and his gruff, guttural voice caused her to grow warm with something that she could not name, while simultaneously causing a tremor to wrack through her body. Her eyes were drawn to him, as he sang:

_Far over the misty mountains, cold_

_To Dungeons deep and caverns old_

_We must away, `ere break of day_

_To find our long-forgotten gold_

She furrowed her brow, as she looked upon Thorin Oakenshield, upon the man, whom she had previously thought so arrogant, so angry, so bitter. Her opinion of him had not changed, because he still seemed to be all of those things to her, but she no longer felt resentment toward him. She no longer felt her chagrin for his treatment toward both her and her cousin. She felt… She did not truly know what she felt. Yet she felt a deluge of sadness upon her, as she heard this bereaved melody and she looked at Thorin Oakenshield to see his slumped shoulders, suggesting that he was carrying an unbearable and shattering weight and she looked into his stormy grey eyes, which she had thought so cold and mocking to see sadness. At seeing the revealing emotion in his eyes, she averted her gaze in shame of having glimpsed it, as if she had uninvitedly discovered a secret of his, and was unbidden to do so.

_The pines were roaring on the height_

_The winds were mourning in the night_

_The fire was red, it flaming spread_

_The trees like torches, blazed with light_

The familiarity of those words hit her and she closed her eyes. Feeling shielded, she recalled visions of nights long past. She recalled the contrast of red against midnight blue, as the colour illuminated the night sky much more efficiently than the moon had previously. She was submerged in the agonized screams of pain and despair, as individuals lost everything that they held dear. She could hear the sound of explosions, the sound of the wind, the sound of the people as their moaning intermingled with the roaring of the fire and the mourning of the breeze to create the most dismal melody. She kept her eyes tightly shut and cocked her head, as the sound of her memories of her dream harmonized with the guttural singing of the dwarves.

„Do you need anything, lass?" Her eyes snapped open and she was cruelly pulled out of her rumifications, by Balin's question. Slightly disoriented and with wide eyes, she looked up to see that the dwarves had stopped singing and had become aware of her presence. They were gazing upon her questioningly and expectantly and having been caught so off guard, she felt flustered, as she said: „No… I mean Yes! I simply wanted to ask whether you needed anything else before I retired for the evening." Balin smiled tightly at her and said for all assembled: „It's alright, lass." She smiled unsurely, still shaken by what she had witnessed and by the feeling that she had most unpolitely intruded in something that was not meant for her eyes. She nodded and in a thin voice said: „Well then, Good Night. I wish you the best of luck on your journey, should we not see each other in the morning." With that she turned around to leave, but was stopped by Kili's questioning voice: „You're not coming?" She turned around and seeing his slightly crestfallen expression, she felt shame and lowered her head before stating almost in a guilty confession: „No, Bilbo… We… decided not to. We have responsibilities here. It would not do to leave on such short notice.", she said and she wondered if anyone else could hear the bitterness that had crept into her words. She did not dare look up at the dwarves, as she stood before them like a guilty prisoner, like someone who had just committed the most heinous crime and hearing no response to what she had said, she closed her eyes and whispered: „Good Night." But it seemed as if she was frozen to the spot. She longed to turn around and leave, to escape their no-doubt contemptous gazes trained on her. But she could not, because she felt so wretched. She had misjudged them. She had misjudged him. She had not even been able to be a good hostess, because of her and Bilbo's chagrin to their invasion of Bag End. Because they had disrupted her routine, her tedious day-to-day life.

She did not know from where she mustered the courage, but she opened her eyes and with the utmost honesty, she looked up at the assembled dwarves and addressed them: „I'm sorry." Some became confused at her apology, stated in such a broken, raw tone, but she continued undeterred: „I'm sorry, that we could not be of more help. I…" she scoffed unamusedly and continued in her rambling, unaware of the astonishment of the ones she was addressing: „I honestly wish you all of Middle Earth's luck on this journey and I hope that you are able to achieve what you have set out to do. I'm sorry for the fate that befell you, no one should have to loose their home." The last part she had stated whisperingly, contemplatively as if she herself had only realized this and feeling out-of-breath after her speech, she turned around with the firm intent of departing.

„We do not need your pity, girl." His deep voice stated and she stopped, as she felt the heat of his glare on her back. She smiled waterly at his words and shook her head. No, not pity. How could she pity them? How could she pity those men, who were so much more courageous than she, how could she pity them, when she admired the quest they were undertaking, when she had come to recognize his leadership and authority? Slowly she turned around with her gaze on the floor, but then she raised her eyes and looked up at him through her eyelashes and she knew that he would be able to read all of her emotions, all of her self-deprication, while he simply looked at her with a hard glare, that did not betray any emotion, but only his pride and his unwillingness to accept pity from a creature he no doubt thought insubsequential. She whispered loud enough for him to hear, while smiling at him sadly: „It's not pity, Thorin Oakenshield… It's compassion." He did not show any reaction to her statement, but he no longer glared at her, he simply stared at her intensely, as if he wanted to penetrate her soul. She held his gaze for a few seconds, that seemed to stretch on forever and then she said: „Good Night." She turned around and departed in direction of her room. Painfully aware of Thorin's gaze on her back. Oblivious to the contemplative look that Gandalf gave her, as she passed by him.


	10. Two Roads and The World Ahead

_"Two roads diverged in a wood, and I, I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference."- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost_

Bilbo Baggins awoke the next day to the early morning sun striving to illuminate every crevice, every detail of his chamber. It should have been a normal morning for all intents and purposes. The sun was shining just as brightly, as every other day and the air outside smelled of maturity, with the aging leaves and the receading warmth signalizing the approach of autumn. He would perceive the homely smell of fresh bread and the herbal scent of recently brewed tea. If he strained his pointy ears he would be able to detect the sound of soft and sweet humming, coming from the kitchen. A sound, which he had grown used to hearing routinely during the years. A melancholic tune, which he would be able to discern and recognize anywhere.

Yet he did not. Bilbo Baggins awoke and he did behold the warm scent of first breakfast. The air around him did not include the smell of his cousin's cooking, but simply encompassed the smell of the not-yet vacated dew and the warm, mellow scent of the end of summer. His ear perceived nothing, but ambient and prevailing silence. No matter how severly he would have strained his ears, his search for the haunting tume his cousin sang, as a past-time during her chores, would prove unbountiful. And this was the first anomaly of this morning.

Another anomaly was the oscillations, which had seized Bilbo Baggins, when he awoke. Now Bilbo Baggins prided himself on being a comfortable and serene Hobbit. Long forgotten were the days of his youth, where he would awake each morning and even before he had ingested first breakfast, he would run into the woods, surrounding Bag End, Laurel in tow, searching for fantastical creatures and adventures.

Now Bilbo Baggins would usually awake in the morning and a feeling of lethargy and muzziness would pack him and he would lay on his feathered bed for a few seconds, slowly awakening and becoming discerning to his surroundings, before standing up and with all the time in the world, going to join his cousin in the kitchen for first breakfast. But today it was different, because the first second after Bilbo Baggins awoke a sense of urgency and anticipation and the need to do something, to be efficacious annexed him. So strong was this urge, that at first Bilbo did not perceive the lack of the things, that had always accompanied him and his routine in the early mornings. For a creature of habit, he was most surprisingly unalarmed about today's lack of the entities, which constituted his morning routine. No, this compulsion caused him to be oblivious to the vacancy of first breakfast smell and of the sound of Laurel's tune.

It was only after he had quickly risen, propelled by this queer sensation that urged him to do something, that was most unbearable to endure lying still; it was only after that, and while he was wandering Bag End's halls, which were still not completely lit and partially in shadow, due to the early hour it yet was, that he perceived the eery, almost deathly silence that reigned in his halls and which was at odds with the tumulteous turbulence, which domineered Bilbo's interior. It was most disconcerting for the little Hobbit, yet it shouldn't have been, because this was routine. Bag End was normally reticent and tranquil in the early morning hours, as every respectable Hobbit hole should be. Who had ever heard of a Hobbit home, that was filled with clamor and agitation? No, Hobbits were quiet, peaceful folk, which made them most respectable and their homes had to reflect this facet of Hobbit existence. Especially the home of a Baggins, a family of Hobbits, which were most reputed. Yet it seemed to Bilbo, as he moved through his halls to not find a soul within them, that his halls were barren, barren of everything, barren of life. Especially after the hullaballoo of last night, created by the dwarves.

Bilbo had been so chagrined with the unannounced arrival of Thorin Oakenshield's Company. He had been incensed with the dwarven lack of courtesy and the fact, that they had most inconveniently disrupted their evening and the order, which reigned within Bag End. Not a second had passed last night, that Bilbo had not resented the presence of his uninvited visitors and, after Gandalf and the leader of the dwarves had revealed that both he and Laurel were to go on the quest, to outsmart a chiefest calamity, that was the Dragon in Erebor's halls, Bilbo had vehemently wished for the dwarves to leave.

As he walked through Bag End and perceived that the rooms, where he would have expected his visitors to be, were empty, barren, he would have expected to feel relief, relief that this most disconcerting episode of his life had passed and that the natural order within Bag End was once more restored and both he and his dear cousin could go back to their comfortable routine. Yet the only thing he felt, as he stared into the barren rooms was an outlandish sense of disappointment that shouldn't have been there. He had been so annoyed with the presence of the dwarves last night, honestly he had been frightened at the proposition the company had made. Yet as he stood almost desolately in the middle of the main hallway of Bag End, his resentment toward the dwarves shifted and metamorphised into resentment for the infecundity of Bag End. Without Gandalf, the dwarves and Laurel by his side, Bilbo felt... alone. And this cold feeling of abandonment and desolation he did not like.

Behind him he heard the sound of a door opening and at the welcome disturbance to the reticence of his halls, he turned around to be met with his cousin's familiar face, as she exited her chamber. So large was his relief at seeing her, at seeing another soul in his halls, that it was only seconds later that he perceived her occult manner of dress this morning. His cousin always appeared very composed and dressed in a decent manner, usual for the Hobbit lasses of the shire. In the last few years, she had become accustomed to putting up her wild, red curls in a neat bun and wearing respectable skirts and petticoats. He often prided himself on seeing his cousin's impecable manner of dress, and would often find amusement in remembering how often during their childhood, Laurel had returned to Bag End with her clothes completely caked in mud and her appearance almost indecently disheveled. Yet it had not only been her, had it? He had also been most uncombed, but back then he had not cared. He had not cared for convention, he had been a young Hobbit lass, whose only worry was having fun with his best friend.

The image that greeted Bilbo now, as his Cousin came out of her room, was completely different to what he had gotten used to in the past years. Laurel's curls were scooped together and fastened in a long braid, which went down to her mid-back and she was not wearing her usual skirt and golden waistcoat, but tan trousers, that ended mid-calf and a red long coat, that skimmed her mid-thigh over a green waistcoat. She carried two backpacks in her Hand and had a look of determination setting her brow. She looked up and instead of greeting him with the smile, she always graced him with when they first saw each other in the morning, she looked at him with solemnity and said: "I was about to wake you." "Why are you wearing that?", he questioned, while pointing at her attire and completely disregarding her comment. She smiled at him teasingly and said: "Well, I could not wear my usual skirt and petticoat. I believe they are a most inconvenient hindrance, when going on an adventure." With that she moved past him and toward the kitchen. His shock at her words was so great, that he did not feel dread, due to the fact that his cousin seemed to determined and obstinate to go on Thorin Oakenshield's quest and putting herself in danger. "Quest?" he exclaimed and went after her. "Quest? Thorin Oakenshield's quest? I thought we had agreed that we would not go? I thought you did not want to?" "Well, I changed my opinion.", she said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world and proceeded to fill the kettle to cook some tea. Without looking back at him, she stated: "Go dress yourself, while I brew us some tea. I have already made your pack for you." He looked incredulously at her back and said: "I... I'm not going, Laurel. I told you last night, that it would not do to abandon Bag End for those dwarves and I have not changed my opinion, differently from you. I... I thought that you preferred remaining here with me and not going off with those ill-mannered dwarves. I thought that we would stand at each other's side, look out for each other.", the last he said with a tinge of hurt colouring his tone. He was hurt, that his cousin was completely disregarding his wishes and now seemed obstinate to go, even without him he feared, because he had been able recognize her facial expression and he remembered that when she got that expression on her face, nothing would bring her off her goal.

She whirled around to face him and with her hands on her hips and a slighty repremanding tone, she said: "Bilbo, I promised to Aunt Bella, that I would look out for you. Until yesterday, I thought that I was doing exactly that, but now... I see that I have failed most greatly. Looking out for you also means ensuring your happiness. Perhaps we were... content until yesterday with our lives, but we... you can not go on like that. Life is passing us by, Bilbo. I have spent thirty-three summers in Middle Earth, you have spent ten more than that and we have not done anything. We live in Bag End and go about our routine, we are corteous to individuals, who only think ill of us. We dream about adventures and fantastical quests, but when one comes literally knocking on our door, we are willing to let it pass us by. The world is not in our books or maps, Bilbo. It is outside, outside of the Shire. I will be honest with you, I do not simply want to live my life... I want to be happy, as well. And I want the same happiness for you. And I believe that you shall never forgive yourself if you let this opportunity pass you by." She had moved closer to him during the speech and out of one of the packs, she had taken out the contract, that the elderly dwarf had given him. He saw the three signatures, Thorin Oakenshield's, Balin's and Laurel's and for a few seconds, he simply looked contemplatively at the parchment. He felt torn. He remembered the conversation he had with Gandalf last night:

_"I'll be alright, just let me sit quietly for a moment.", Bilbo said, while Laurel handed him a mug of tea and came to sit down beside him, mustering him with a worried facial expression. "You have been sitting quietly for far too Long." Gandalf said with a chagrined and slightly disappointed expression on his face and moved closer to where both, Laurel and Bilbo were sitting. He looked at both of them and asked, almost disillusioned: "Tell me, when did doilies and your mother's dishes become so important to you?" Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Laurel lower her head and look at the floor contemplatively. Gandalf's features and tone softened, when he reminisced: "I remember two young Hobbits, always going off into the woods in search of elves, dwarves and adventures. They would stay up late, come home only after dark, trailing mud and twigs and fireflies. Completely uncaring for convention and appearances. Two young Hobbits, who would have liked nothing better than to find out what was beyond the borders of the Shire. The world is out there, not in your books and maps." "We have grown up, we are not nonsensical children. We can't just go running off into the blue. We are Bagginses of Bag End.", Bilbo stated most self-assuredly. He felt Laurel give his hand a squeeze, after him having raised his voice. His cousin did not want their guests to overhear their discussion with the wizard. "You are also a Took. Especially you, Laurel. What would Benji and Elauriel think, if they could see their daughter, who would spend the duration of her days, out chasing fireflies, looking for dwarves and dreaming of exactly the quests I now offer you, so complacent?" His Cousin looked up at the mention of her deceased parents and with a bitter smile, she said: "Well, I would not know. They left me at a very young age, did they not? I was brought up in a Baggins household. I am more Baggins, than Took." "Did you know that your great- great- uncle was so large, that he could ride a real horse? In the battle of the green fields, he chanced the goblin ranks. He swung his club so hard, it knocked the goblin king's head clear off and it went flying a hundred yards through the air and went down a rabbit hole. And thus the battle was won and the game of golf invented at the same time." At Gandalf's tale, he saw his cousin's features soften and a small, amused smile twisted her lips. Bilbo looked up at the elderly wizard disbelievingly, yet with amusement and said: "I do believe you made that up." Gandalf sat down in front of both him and Laurel and said: "Well, all good stories deserve embelishment. You will have a few tales of your own to tell, when you come back." Laurel and Bilbo both looked at each other and then Bilbo spoke what was on both their minds: "Can you guarantee us, that we will come back?" "No, and if you do, you will not be the same."_

_He heard Laurel scoff wearily beside him and say: "How do you expect us to make such a decision, in so short a time?" "I believed that in your case, no decision would be involved, my dear girl." Gandalf looked at the red-haired Hobbit lass, who had risen, again with slight disappointment and at seeing his gaze, Laurel lowered her head and shook it slightly. "Good night, Gandalf. If you need anything, do not hesitate to call on me." She then left both him and Bilbo alone. He could feel the confusion radiating off his cousin, yet he was most assured. He could not go on this adventure, he had responsibilities and also he was not prepared for the hazards that awaited him. He stood and made to leave like Laurel and he said to Gandalf: "Sorry Gandalf, I can't sign this." Yet before he strode off, Gandalf's raspy voice said ominously: "She may be confused now, Bilbo Baggins, but she won't remain so for very much longer. Despite what she says, she is a Took and will not sit quietly for very much longer." While he had heard Gandalf's words, he chose to ignore them. He was certain that he and Laurel would not be going on this adventure._

Yet, he had been wrong and Gandalf had been right. Laurel had not remained confused for too long and looking at her determined face, Bilbo knew that his cousin would not sit still for much longer and that no matter what he said, she was determined to go on this adventure, despite his unwillingness. Yet unwillingness is not what he felt, he felt torn. He felt torn between his childhood dreams, something that a part of him, the Tookish part still longed for, despite what he would most vehemently state. He felt torn between his longing for adventure and his routine, his comfortable life, his reputation in the Shire, his home, that had appeared so empty and desolate to him this morning. Laurel would be going on this adventure, he knew he would not be able to stop her and he was not sure if he even wanted to, because his cousin had stated that this would be her source of happiness and Bilbo did not have the heart to deprive his cousin of something she so vehemently wanted, especially after all the sacrifices she had made for him. He did not want the same sensation of loneliness, that had smothered him in his hallways a few minutes prior, to be perpetual. A few seconds of that feeling had been more than enough. He thought about the tales of adventure and glory and he felt an immense longing. This is what he had wanted before he had become almost painfully responsible and sensible. Adventures, to know the world outside of the Shire, he hadn't wanted the life Hobbits, such as Lobelia Sackville-Baggins had envisioned for him.

Out of his longing sprung an intense determination, that he thought even rivalled his cousin's and he picked up the quill and before he could ponder further on the implications of his Actions, he signed the contract and looked up at his cousin's incredulous, yet overjoyed face.

* * *

They were off. The familiar landscape of Hobbiton was a blur to them, as both him and Laurel ran gaily through the village, that had been their home for the majority of their life, but which now seemed so unimportant to them. No, they did not run. To Bilbo it seemed as if they were flying, he had never felt such elation, such liberation, before, as he did now, while he had his cousin's delicate hand grasped in his own and he could practically feel the joy radiating off her delicate form and he could hear the fluttering of the parchment of the contract in the wind, which he held tightly grasped in his hands. They were passing by the Bolger's house, but he did not mind that the old matriarch of the Bolgers was stood at her fence and was looking at the elated Bilbo and Laurel in confusion and asking them: "Bilbo, Laurel dear, where are you going?" "We are going on an adventure." His voice was filled with anticipation and he heard Laurel's chuckle beside him and saw her beaming smile, as they ran toward Thorin Oakenshield's Company.

Soon, they spied the sturdy form of the thirteen dwarves, as well as the tall silhouette of the wizard Gandalf and both he and his cousin began to call out for the company to come to a stop. Bilbo's joy dissipated slightly, as they came closer and saw how the members of the company were eyeing them with caution and slight distrust, as well as disgruntlement, especially on their leader's part. The welcome was anything, but warm and for a moment Bilbo wondered if the dwarves would even allow them to accompany, especially after his declaration of imcompetence. "We..." Bilbo began warily and then he looked up at Balin and said, handing him the parchment: "We signed the contract." For a short moment, while the dwarf scribe scrutinized the paper, the forest clearing, which they were located in was bathed in complete, tense silence and he felt that his cousin's grip on his hand had tightened in nervousness.

Balin looked up and then slowly his lips formed into a small, warm smile, and Bilbo exhaled deeply, releasing the breath he did not even know he was holding. "Everything seems to be in order. Welcome Laurel Took and Bilbo Baggins to the Company of Thorin Oakenshield." He continued to gaze upon the warmer face of the scribe, when he suddenly heard the deep, throaty voice of the leader: "Get them a pony." Bilbo's alarm grew, he had never ridden a pony before and he believed that he was most allergic to any type of animal hair. "No, no, that won't be necessary. I am quite comfortable with walking, I have taken several walking holidays, even as far as..." He was interrupted in his rambling, when he felt a pair of hands, easily lifting him and depositing him on the warm back of a pony. He immediately grasped the reins in alarm, fearful to fall off.

It was only a few minutes later, that he questioned Laurel's absence, for he was riding alone. He looked around until he spied the form of his cousin, who seemed intensely uncomfortable judging by the glowing redness of her cheeks, sitting in front of a triumphant and smug-looking Kili, who had appearantly coerced her to ride with him. He saw that Kili was smirking triumphantly, while his brother was riding beside both him and Laurel looking slightly chagrined and his poor cousin was simply keeping her head down to conceal her embarrassment.

Before he could come to Laurel's rescue, he heard approaching horse hooves before he saw Thorin Oakenshield come to a stop before his nephews. He looked annoyed, as well as irritated and he exclaimed something in that guttural and hoarse language of theirs. Something, which caused Kili to look down properly admonished. "I am sure Mistress Baggins would prefer to ride with her husband." Thorin added impassively, while looking at the red-haired girl, whose head snapped up when hearing what he had just said. She looked at him wide-eyed and confused for a moment, before she looked to her side at Bilbo. He was sure that he looked just as shocked as her at the assumption that the dwarven leader had reached. Slowly, Laurel's features went from shocked to amused and he felt that same feeling seize him and he felt his lips widen into a smile. Laurel snorted softly and lowered her head once more, but this time it was to hide her amusement. Yet, Thorin had glimpsed it and with an irritated expression he asked her: "Does something amuse you, Mistress Baggins?" She looked up at him and continued to smile, before she shook her head and said: "Of course not." She then turned to Bilbo once more and in a loud voice, she announced, appearantly intent to dispell the company's misassumption: "You hear that, cousin. It appears we are married." He answered cockily: "Well, you could do worse." Her smile widened at that and she shook her head, before addressing the surprised leader of the company: "We are not married, Bilbo is my Cousin. I fear you have an old maid accompanying you on your quest." Bilbo chuckled softly at his cousin's description of herself, while Thorin turned his pony around and without another word returned to the front of the procision.

He should have felt alarm, when he saw the elated and encouraged expression that had taken residence of Fili and Kili's faces, when Laurel had dispelled the misassumption about her marital status. Yet he only felt anticipation, as he rode alongside his cousin into the world ahead.


	11. Verse of the Eremite

_"Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art- Not in lone splendor hung aloft the night and watching, with eternal lids apart like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,"- Bright Star, John Keats_

Laurel watched in amazement as the dwarves proceeded to set up camp for the night. When she had dismounted Kili's pony, she had groaned at the soreness in her back, resulting from riding the entire day. It had been a long time, since she had last been on a horse. The last occurrence being two decades ago, when her mother had brought her to Belladonna Took. Since then, Laurel had never ridden and similarly as her cousin she had been most disconcerted, when thrust on the pony without prior practice. She should have been thankful, that Kili had taken it upon himself to have her ride with him, but she had been incredibly embarrassed by his forwardness and her shyness had rebelled against the closeness of their bodies. Yet Kili had not listened to any of her interjections and soon Laurel had acquiesced, especially after she had perceived her cousin's difficulty with riding on his own.

They had ridden the entire day and now the dwarves were sitting up camp. Bilbo was sitting on a log, adjacent to the clearing, where they would be resting for the night and he was currently enjoying a pipe in the company of the wise wizard Gandalf. She supposed she could go join them, but she had never liked the burnt and deeply herbal scent of pipe smoke and she was enthralled watching those creatures, which she had read so much about in her childhood and which she had always admired for the stories she had read about them. So she simply sat beneath a myrtle tree, which's shade protected her from the warmth of the late afternoon sun, that was setting and disappearing in the horizon behind her, with her knees drawn up and her chin resting on her kneecaps. She observed the individuals of the race, she had always raced off into the woods, surrounding Bag End in the hopes of finding. Her cousin had always been obsessed with elves and he had always looked for her kin, but she... She'd always held a fascination with these sturdy folk. If asked about the origin of this interest, she would have been unable to answer. It was simply something she had possessed, since the earliest days of her childhood. She could at times recall the fastidious ways her late mother would talk about dwarves. She recalled snippets of conversations between her mother and her father and she remembered that one of her father's companion in his last quest had been a dwarf and she could remember how disapproving her mother had been of this company. With amusement she thought of how her mother would react, if she could see Laurel in a company lead by the proudest of dwarves. Perhaps her fascination was a petty way to spite her mother, a mechanism of revenge that she had unconsciously adopted to avenge her mother's abandonment. But as she looked on at the working men with a curious expression, she knew that it was not so... That there was something profounder about her interest.

Not for the first time, Laurel compared the dwarves with the male Hobbits of the Shire and again it did not fail to amaze her, how different the two were. Even the tallest Hobbit man in the Shire was still about a head smaller than Thorin Oakenshield, who was almost unnaturally tall for a dwarf. Laurel remembered that after she had dismounted the pony, Thorin Oakenshield had come up to her and ordered her to fetch water. During that time, she had once more been reminded of how imposing their leader was, because she was so much smaller than him, she only came up to a little below his shoulders. She had grown flustered and intimidated at his proximity and at seeing his distinct height advantage and, without uttering a sound, she had quickly scampered off and gone to do her task. So averagely, dwarves were much taller than Hobbits and much stockier, which made them appear stronger and more battle-hardened. Like warriors, Laurel would often think in childlike awe and then she would shake her head in self-deprecation. She was no longer a starry-eyed infant and these men, while courageous no doubt, were not the idealistic and heroic motifs she had read about in her and Bilbo's books. It would not do to idealize them, especially since she would travel with them for a few months at the least. Yet as she watched the dwarves quickly and efficiently setting up camp, she could not help but feel respect for them, due to their efficiency. They were hard-working folk and their naturally weathered demeanor, opposed to the comfortable and soft appearance of Hobbits, hinted at their persevering dexterity. It wasn't that Hobbit men were useless and lazy. No, it would be unfair of her to say so, considering both Hamfast, who worked relentlessly in agriculture and Bilbo, who was most proficient and often helped her in her chores. But the dwarves... She knew that they worked much more and she wondered about the women of their race, if the men relied on the women to do homely chores.

She wanted to find out more about their race, and perhaps that was unwise, because she knew almost nothing about dwarven costumes and her curiosity could be easily misconstrued as nosiness and rudeness, especially if she asked them something that was highly personal and private. She wondered if they already thought her impolite and intrusive for overhearing their singing last night. She wondered if perhaps she had offended them with her questions and with the verbal tirade, that had sprung out of her, due to the guilt she had felt for misjudging them. She wondered if her comment of compassion had been obscene and insulting to Thorin Oakenshield. But most of all, she wondered if they had already formed an opinion of her and if so, what it was. She knew that most dwarves, especially the leader, thought themselves superior to both Bilbo and herself, due to the fact that they had limited knowledge of weaponry and surviving in the wild. She knew that it was not far-fetched to assume, that some dwarves, especially the more severe ones, even resented their presence and thought them to be only liabilities. But it was unfair to think about all dwarves in this manner, to judge all of the company based on the actions of some. Fili and Kili had been most kind with her, and she did find the energetic behavior of the two young dwarves quite amusing and endearing. They seemed to have welcomed her and were most kind with her. Bofur, the dwarf that had annoyed her during last night's council, due to his constant teasing of her cousin and the fact that he had caused Bilbo to faint, had redeemed himself in her eyes through his compassionate gesture of offering a ripped piece of clothing to her cousin, as handkerchief and through his openness toward both Bilbo and her.

But during the day's ride, she had overheard a conversation between Dwalin and Gloin, where the two had most extensively discussed the shortcomings of the elven race. Even now, she could still hear the offensive and cruel remarks of the bald, tattooed dwarf and the derogatory reference that Gloin had made of Elves as 'tree-shaggers'. She could still hear the malicious chuckling of the other dwarves, who had been in the vicinity and she recalled the amount of effort it had taken to hold herself back, when the only thing that she had truly wanted, was to have reprimanded both of the dwarves, who were offending her mother's race. Any contact that Laurel had had with her mother's kin and culture had seized after Elauriel had left her with Belladonna at Bag End, yet she had still found herself fiercely protective toward Elves and her heritage and had resented both of the elder dwarves quite strongly for the offense, they had unknowingly bestowed on her. She had not pondered on Gandalf's warning too greatly until now. There had been other things to occupy her mind, but as she reflected upon them now, she began to grow worried. She had personally witnessed the acerbic acrimony of the dwarves toward elves and she knew that they would condemn her for even being half an elf. She would have to be most cautious with her heritage, if she did not want the reserve of the dwarves toward her to turn to hostile ill will. She sadly meditated if the behavior of the dwarves, who had been kinder toward her would have been different if they knew the entire extent of her heritage.

She continued to study the dwarves and not surprisingly her eyes finally came to rest upon him. He was towering over the dwarves, who were just finishing with their tasks and with impassiveness he was studying his company, almost supervising them with silent authority radiating off him. He already resented her and her cousin most greatly, his prejudice thought them to be inconsequential and beneath him. She wondered how he would treat her if he knew that she was a part of the race he despised. He would hate her then, if he did not do so even now. And he would most certainly never allow her to continue on their quest, really, expulsion was the lightest of the punishments she could fear of him. She tipped back her head and closed her eyes, he felt resentment toward her, yet she felt... She felt that frustrating, enraging, elating familiarity that had taken a hold of her, when she had first seen him. She had spent some time pondering this queer feeling and it unnerved her, because she could not place it. She could not reason why this man, who she had never seen before in her life, did not seem like a stranger to her.

She was drawn out of her thoughts by Bombur's jovial voice announcing that dinner was ready. She rose and slowly made her way toward the fire, where the chubby dwarf was spooning stew into the bowls, that had been brought with the company. As Laurel waited for her turn, she took the opportunity to look around the camp. She was looking in Bilbo's and Gandalf's direction, the two individuals were already eating their stew and she would go to them and join their company. Yet her eyes were inadvertently drawn to Bifur, the dwarf that had most disconcerted her when she had first met him, not only due to the axe implanted in his skull, but also due to the fact that he could not communicate with her, as he did not speak Common and only spoke to other's with hand gestures. He kept to himself most of the time, similarly now, as he sat a little distance away from Bofur. From Kili she had found out that Bofur and Bombur were his cousins, but both of them were quite jovial and talkative fellows and no doubt did not revel in the reticent company of the silent dwarf. Appearance wise, Bifur was one of the more intimidating of the dwarves with his thick beard and his black and white hair and his hard eyes. As she saw the dwarf, who was sitting beside his cousin, yet was by himself, because Bofur was busy talking to Dori, she suddenly felt an urge and as Bombur handed her a bowl of stew, she asked him: "Bombur, does your cousin understand Common?" "Aye lass, he would understand what you say, but he just can't speak it, something to do with the axe in his head." She nodded her head and then she said: "Would you mind giving me another bowl? I'll bring it to your cousin." Bombur smiled at her and indulging acquiesced to her requests.

Ignoring the stares from the members of the company, who had grasped her intentions she moved toward the quiescent dwarf, who looked up at her, when she came to a stop before him. She did not allow herself to be discouraged by his impassive expression and with a small smile, she handed him the bowl, before sitting down on the ground beside him with the log he was sat on as a support for her back. She ignored the questioning looks of Bifur and all the other members of the company, who were now attentive to her perhaps peculiar choice of company. Looks that she could feel burning into her. Yet she did not flinch or show any outward acknowledgement of the incredulity her behavior was met with and simply ate her ration with carefreeness.

When she had finished her stew, she spied out of the corner of her eyes, that Bifur was looking at her in confusion, probably questioning why she had not sought out the company of her cousin or even of Fili and Kili. Feeling that she owed him an explanation, she shifted slightly and then looked up at him and said in a soft voice: "It is not necessary to talk in order to provide companionship to another." she smiled up at the dwarf and continued: "I must be quite honest, I enjoy your reticence. It is quite soothing, especially after spending the day in most energetic company. Also me and Bilbo always converse when in each other's company, so I find your silence quite refreshing." Seeing no acknowledgement to her words, she started to grow worried and with less confidence she stated: "We could establish gestures to converse. I know you already do, but I assume that this a dwarfish thing and I would not want to intrude on your culture." She did not look up and the camp had grown most eerily quiet, only adding to her internal agitation. She feared that she had offended Bifur and backtracking she said: "I could also just leave, if my company proves bothersome to you. If you do not wish for it." She raised her head and looked up at Bifur, who was looking contemplatively at her and for a minute, silence enveloped them both, before she saw the corner of his mouth curling up the slightest fraction of an inch and him shaking his head in encouragement, as if saying that her company was not bothersome to him. Her lips curled into a smile and she exhaled, before patting his hand lightly in a comradely gesture and turning around to stare at the flickering flames of the fire before her, enjoying her silent companion.

* * *

"Home is behind you, Bilbo. The world is ahead." Gandalf declared, while finishing his bowl of stew.

Both him and Gandalf had been enjoying each other's company, since they had decided to sat up camp for the night. They had conversed and smoked a late-afternoon pipe and Bilbo had been grateful for this facet of his routine to have been preserved. He had just finished his stew and put the bowl away, when he became aware of Laurel's absence and started to look around the camp for her familiar, feminine form. Greatest was his surprise, when he found her sitting beside the most intimidating of dwarves, Bofur's cousin. The one that could not speak Common and looked most disconcerting with the axe embedded in his head. Aghast, he wondered at his cousin's choice of Company and simply looked at her incredulously, as she spooned her stew, completely oblivious and unconcerned about the attention she had garnered.

Beside him he heard Gandalf's throaty chuckle and he turned his head to look at the wizard, when he indulgingy addressed him: "I believe you are not the only one, who is astonished at Laurel's choice of company for tonight." Bilbo furrowed his brows and looked at the rest of the dwarfish company to see what Gandalf had meant. The companionable conversation of the other dwarves had ceased and all were looking at the girl beside the mute and normally withdrawn dwarf, disbelievingly. And honestly, even Bilbo was questioning what his cousin was doing with the reticent, pensive dwarf, why she had not joined his company, the company of any other dwarf.

He only received an answer after Laurel had finished eating. He overheard his cousin's soft words to the dwarf and he immediately furrowed his brow and felt tender affection for his cousin's innocent, blind kindness and genuinety toward the dwarf and he then proceeded to gaze at the dwarf, hoping that he would not be rude to his cousin and turn her away. Yet as he saw the dwarf's stony features soften an inch, and the corner of his mouth twitching up the tiniest fraction of an inch, he became relieved. His cousin was kind to a fault, and only in rare cases was she hateful toward a person. The Hobbits of the Shire had at first been reserved and wary of her, due to her mixed heritage, but they had softened toward her after perceiving her altruistic spirit. Bilbo expected that the same phenomenon would repeat itself in the company of Thorin Oakenshield. She already seemed quite friendly with both Fili and Kili and as he looked at the members of the dwarven company, that all seemed to focus on the interactions between the Hobbit girl and the silent dwarf, he saw that both Bofur and Bombur fixed his cousin with small, grateful smirks at seeing her friendly handling of their cousin. His eyes succored every dwarf, until it came to rest upon the impassive, invulnerable leader of the company. He was surprised to see that Thorin was scrutinizing the interactions between his cousin and the dwarf, as well. He had not expected that Thorin would find interest in that. He grew even more startled, when he saw a slight softening to Thorin's steely gaze, as he looked at Laurel, who was beaming brightly and tenderly at something her dwarven companion had done and patted him on the hand gently.

Seeing Thorin's gaze at his cousin, Bilbo had the urge to avert his eyes in fear and Feeling that he had intruded in something so private and intimate. Yet when he returned his gaze at the invulnerable leader, he saw that his icy and almost angry glare had returned and wondered if perhaps he had not only just imagined it. This query plagued him even, after he had laid down beside the sleeping form of his Cousin later that night, as he looked up at the star-encrusted inky-black sky.


	12. Eulogy for my broken dreams

_"In visions of the dark night I have dreamed of joy departed- But a waking dream of life and light hath left me broken-hearted." A Dream- Edgar Allan Poe_

The next night she was sitting with Fili, Kili and her cousin Bilbo around the fire. Feeling the flickering flames gently warm her face, she reflected on the occurrings of today with satisfaction and lethargic contentment. They had awoken before the first lights of dawn and they had ridden the whole day only resting for a short while at midday to have some lunch. While she still felt sore from the exertions of riding and was unnaturally tired, she felt that her physical exhaustion was revunerated by the landscape she had glimpsed today during the ride. The landscape of the Shire, while healthily beautiful with lush green grass, and endless rolling downs, did have the tendency to become monotone, especially for individuals that had lived their whole lives in this area. Yet, shortly after Gandalf had conspiratorially whispered to both her and Bilbo, that they were about to cross the borders of the Shire and enter into the rest of Middle Earth, the sights that greeted had left her enthralled. They had ridden across vast green ranges, which had streams with the bluest water she had ever glanced running through them and she had sighted alpine rock formations, which had likely existed since the beginning of time, as suggested by the weathered nature of their facade. Soon Laurel could no longer see the rolling hills and the little rivers of her homeland and the nature around her had completely shifted to dense forests with old, tattered and raggedy trees. Completely different from the lofty woods that had abutted Bag End with the pines and their ambrosial trunks and the sumptuous shrubs.

Yet that had not been the only thing that had delighted her today. Bofur had been kind and open toward her and especially toward Bilbo and Laurel had been jubilant to witness the tentative approaches to friendship between her cousin and the talkative dwarf. During their lunch break Laurel had once more sought out the company of Bifur, who had been more welcoming and less reserved toward her this time around. They had utilized the time and had proceeded to establish the hand gestures that they would use, when the need to converse and communicate was existent. She had been mindful to not use any gestures, that she had seen Bifur use previously when talking with the other dwarves, rationalizing that this was a branch, a part of dwarfish language and she did not believe that it was wise to intrude on the race's customs and culture this early on, especially with the majority of the company still being wary of her and Bilbo's presence and being withdrawn toward them. She did not wish for her attempts at establishing a friendship with Bifur, whose company she genuinely desired, to warrant any ill will and resentment on part of the other dwarves. So she had spent her day in the company of her cousin and Bofur, who in turn had spent the majority of his time by her cousin's side, discussing a vast number of topics with the sensible Hobbit man, ranging from the weather to the best best technique of smoking a pipe. She had ridden with Fili today and his brother, as well as Bifur after lunch, had ridden alongside them. She had found the contrast between the brothers' constant, enthusiastic conversation and Bifur's introspective and soothing quietude to be quite amiable, and when she had shared an amused and private glance with the weathered dwarf while Fili had been proudly boasting about his vast prowess with a sword, she knew that she cared for each one of these dwarves already and that she had become quite fond of them in the limited time interval, they had spent together.

Perhaps it was because she was traveling with them on her first adventure, which was simultaneously a quest that carried an immeasurable amount of importance with each and every dwarf of Thorin Oakenshield's Company. Perhaps it was because, she was almost painfully aware that the serene pacifism that she had experienced on their journey up until now was not bound to last, because she had read the accounts of what the adventurers and travelers in her books had encountered on the road. She knew of Orcs and Goblins and Bandits and she knew that with her lacking knowledge on how to use a weapon, she was painfully unprepared for this journey. Thinking about her self-inflicted vulnerability and her helplessness caused a pang of self-deprecation to course through her. She did not want to resemble those simpering maids she had read about with Bilbo, who needed to be saved from heinous beasts, because of their own uselessness and would usually stand in the heroes' ways. She had always abhorred those figures in the stories and their dependency on the glorious templar and Laurel had always imagined herself as the heroic and appraised crusader in the stories. She would ask Fili, Kili or Bifur for some instructions, so that she could at least defend herself and would not feel so helplessly vulnerable.

As the color of the sky above had transcended from the color of cornflowers to the deep shade of ink, the Company had decided to set up camp on the stark peak of a stony hill, which overlooked the vast nothingness of the ranges, which they would cross tomorrow. Laurel was shaken out of her thoughts by a sound that caused her insides to turn to the most algid ice, even though she had been so efficiently warmed by the fireplace before her. In the cold, crackling air of the frosty silver moon she could hear a howl, the sound of a broken creature howling with the sound of a thousand midnights down in a nebulous slough. A sound that she was sure chilled the bone marrow of even the most courageous of warriors, that froze the soul of wise, elderly men, caused the healthy, red faces of young individuals to blanche and made the children's head bury themselves deep under the bed covers at night. This was the sound, Laurel thought, this sound could only be made by a creature whose soul was lost forever.

"What was that?" She heard her cousin's alarmed voice and out of the corner of her eyes she observed how the previously slouching Bilbo had straightened in alarm. "Orcs." She heard Kili's ominous and monosyllabic response. Immediately her eyes grew wide as she recalled the description her book had offered of those cruel creatures: their bloodlust, their distorted, decomposing visages, the numerous scars, which deformed their already frightening demeanor. She and Bilbo looked at the two brothers simultaneously, as if beseeching Kili's words to be proven erroneous. Yet Fili only stated in a voice that was hoarse from smoking pipe weed: "Throat cutters. There will be a dozen of them out there. The lowlands are crawling with them." Had fear not packed her, she would have perceived the amused glance that the brothers had shared before Kili continued in a voice that was suspiciously light for the topic, that they were discussing: "They strike in the wee small hours when everyone is asleep. Quick and quiet, no screams, just lots of blood." Hearing Kili's words, she rose in alarm and immediately slung her arms around her form in a defensive gesture, recalling the vivid descriptions her book had given her about Orc attacks.

She was looking at the brothers and Bilbo wide-eyed, while hoping that her trembling was a result of the algid night air and not of the fear the brothers' words had induced. Then they started to chuckle lowly at seeing her alarm and immediately her brow furrowed, as she questioned the source of their amusement. She flinched when closely behind her, she perceived Thorin's deep, stern voice: "You think that's funny?" She turned and looked up at the imposing form of their leader standing behind her and looking behind her with a stern and disciplinarian glare. "You think a night raid by Orcs is a joke?" She saw Kili look down, no longer amused but now slightly ashamed. "We didn't mean anything by it." he muttered apologetically. "No, you didn't. You know nothing of the world." Thorin spat bitterly and strode off to stand at the edge of the peak, with his back to them, overlooking the night sky or the vast ranges below.

She would have been indignated at Thorin's harsh reprimanding of his nephews, had she not been annoyed at the brothers' practical joke. She knew that they endeavored to earn their uncle's pride and respect and that they idolised him, so Thorin treating them like children had no doubt hurt them, but at the moment she was engrossed by the tale, that Balin had started to recount.

_"Don't mind him, laddie. Thorin has more cause than most to hate Orcs. After the Dragon Smaug took Erebor, the dwarf King Thror tried to reclaim the ancient dwarf kingdom of Moria. But our enemy had got their first. Moria had been taken by legions of Orcs. And so that day the great battle of Azanulbizar took place. The Orcs were led by the most vile of their race: Azog, the Defiler. The giant Gundabad Orc had sworn to wipe out the line of Durin. And the Pale Orc began his sworn Task by... Beheading the king. Thrain, Thorin's father went mad with grief and then missing. Taken prisoner, killed... We did not know. We were leaderless. Defeat and death were upon us._

_That is when I saw him. A young dwarf prince facing down the Pale Orc. He stood alone against this most terrible foe. His armor went, wielding nothing but an oaken branch as a shield. Azog, the Defiler learnt that day that the line of Durin would not so easily be broken. Our Forces rallied and drove our enemies back. They had been defeated. But there was no feast, nor song that night for our dead were beyond the count of grief. Wee few had survived. And as I saw him overlooking the mass of dead with his oaken shield, I thought to myself: There is one I could follow, there is one I could call king."_

While Balin had been recounting his tale, Laurel recalled images... images she had dreamt about, for she knew about this battle, eventhough until now she had never thought that it was real. She had always thought it a dream. She began recalling visions of dark nights, that were long past. She began recalling her dreams. She remembered how she had dreamt of the man in her dreams: Thorin. He had looked younger in her dreams. His hair had been the color of ebony and did not have those grey streaks running through it, that spoke of his worldliness. She could recall his incredulous, sweat-drenched and exhausted face, which was contorted by an expression of grief, and wrath and in her ears echoed his heart-broken scream, as he saw Azog holding his grandfather's head triumphantly, like a trophy. She could recall him fighting against the pale Orc, intent on avenging his grandfather and subsequently his father. He saw Thorin fighting Azog, seemingly deranged by fury, holding no weapon, except that oaken shield. He saw Thorin amputating Azog's arm and the orcish filth, cradling his stump with a wounded expression. Then she recalled his screams "Du Bekar! Du Bekar!" as he lead his warriors toward the enemy legion. As he ran toward certain doom, toward hideous creatures that others would not have met so fearlessly. Then she saw him wounded, yet still proud standing over his fallen and exhausted army, looking at the devastation below him with silent authority and confidence, the sun rising behind him like a glorious halo.

She felt the air leave her and she felt disbelief ensnaring her. It was him! It was him! Thorin Oakenshield was the man she had dreamt about for so long. She had expected to feel undiluted joy at having found the person, whom she had thought so brave, whom she had looked up to for so long, but the feeling that was most prominent within her at the time was disbelief and numbness. She did not know what to feel. She supposed that she should have felt disappointment, that the man whom she disapproved of due to his pride and his arrogance was the same man she had so longed to meet. That she should resent his callousness and indifference toward her and the derisiveness he demonstrated at her. Yet the only thing she felt was disbelief and... dread. Dread, because he was such an angry man. Dread, because she knew that he thought her beneath him, and thought her to be a little, vulnerable, naive Hobbit girl from the Shire. She should feel dread, because... he would hate her if he knew of her parentage and she could never be honest with him.

"What happened to Azog?", she heard Bilbo ask and Thorin strode over to where Balin, Bilbo, Fili, Kili and her were assembled and with his eyes fixed on the fire he said: "He slunk back to that hole from whence he came. That filth died of his wounds a long time ago." And then his stormy eyes came to rest upon her and she immediately felt exposed, because she knew that she was looking at him and if he only cared enough he would have been able to distinguish all of her thoughts, all of the emotions that plagued her at the moment from the glance she was fixing him with. He held her look and once more she felt that his eyes had the power to penetrate her soul.

She felt her lips part slightly and her brows furrow as she continued to look at him, thinking about all those times when she had thought about the man in her dreams, of how she had longed for him. And he... He was looking at her impassively once more and no matter how long she scrutinized him, she could not make out anything, any of his thoughts, he was completely concealed from her. Eventually looking into his piercing eyes became too much for her and she averted her gaze to the side, before quickly moving off, out of his line of sight, trying to escape from him.

So great was her inner turmoil, that she did not ponder on the knowing and concerned look that had passed between Gandalf and Balin, when Thorin had declared Azog dead.


	13. Ballad of a summer's day

_"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate."- Sonnet 18, William Shakespeare_

He was passing a shaky hand over his sweat-drenched forehead. He had once more dreamt about his grandfather and Erebor. It was still the early hours of morning and the sun had just started to rise in the east and the deep blue shade of the night sky was retreating to give way to agrey pallor, with a slight tinge of red. None of the others in his company were awake, but him and Nori, who had taken the last watch for the night and he used this time to reflect on his reasons for this quest, for reclaiming Erebor. He remembered the day of Smaug's invasion and he thought that he wished to avenge this day, which had not only caused him to lose all that had been promised to him, all that he had prepared for his entire childhood, but symbolized the beginning of the downward spiral that his life had become, the beginning of the monotonous, wrath-filled, bitter days that constituted his being. No, he liked to believe that if everything he had lost had been material, that he would have been able to overcome this virulence that seemed to rule him. He liked to believe that he had grown to become such a bitter and angry man, because Smaug's siege on Erebor symbolized his grandfather's death and all the plights Thorin and his people had had to undergo until now. That the taking of Erebor had put a curse of misfortune on the line of Durin and their subjects.

Oh Erebor! He felt longing rise within his chest only at the mention of his old halls. He could still recall the vastness and the immensity of the fortress. He liked to believe that he was undertaking this quest not only, because of his desires, but because of his people. Because he longed to give them a home, to enable them to once more be a part of that proud and strong kingdom that had been Erebor. He wanted to believe that he was doing this, so that his once mighty people that had been brought so cruelly low could reclaim their home and could revert to those days of peace and plenty that Thorin had lived through in his childhood. That he wanted to provide a home to his subjects, whom he felt he owed so much due to his incapability to protect Erebor and fend off Smaug on that fateful day and that he no longer wanted his people to wander Middle Earth like a pack of displaced, homeless hounds, like vagabonds, when he himself had experienced their wealth and had reveled in it. He wanted to believe that he undertook this quest, so that his eldest nephew, so that Fili, who he had been teaching and grooming to be a just and valiant leader, similarly to the way Thror had done with him in his youth, so that his nephew, who already displayed characteristics needed in a leader, could have a worthy hall to reign over, so that he could look forward to his inheritance, so that the line of Durin once more recovered their due. He liked to believe that he was doing this because it had been his grandfather's and then his father's dream, that the two patriarchal figures in his life had longed to see their people reinstated in Erebor and receiving what was rightfully theirs. That he was doing this, because he had failed both his grandfather and his father, when he had been unable to prevent their death, or who knew what fate his father had suffered, under the hand of that orcish filth. That he had been unable to stop that vile, heinous creature before he had taken them from him. He wanted to believe that this quest was amends for his shortcomings toward both Thror and Thrain. He wanted to believe that he was doing this for more than the gold he knew lay in Erebor.

He refused to believe that his dreams of the mountains of riches and gold that he knew inhabited each and every hall in Erebor had anything to do with why he was undertaking this quest. He refused to believe that the streams of gold that ran through the stone of Erebor was the reason why he felt the need to go reclaim his halls. That he was only doing this, going on this quest because he longed, he wanted, he needed to be king under the mountain. He refused that this whole undertaking had only sprung out of his want for power and for his kingdom and for the gold he could still vividly paint before his mind's eyes and which he had dreamt about for so long. He refused to believe that this quest was only a means to satisfy his avarice. And he was a stubborn dwarf. He refused to believe that while he knew of the menace of Smaug and of the Devastation he could cause and he was still leading this company... His company knowingly to this place, where that beast no doubt still festered. He refused to believe that he knew that his company of thirteen tradesmen, tinkers, toymaker and two little, weak Hobbits was ill-equipped to go on this quest, since not even the entirety of the royal guard, the best warriors of Erebor had been able to stop Smaug that day. He refused to believe that he was leading this Company of men, who had so faithfully come forth when he had called upon them, only because he still dreamt of the gold in Erebor's halls. Because there would be too much connotation in that belief. Because it would have meant that he had become too much like his grandfather... Not the man, who had taught him during his youth all there was to know about a just and fair leader, not the man whom he had thought to be the best king there had ever been, the man he had idolized... No he would have become too much like the Thror he had seen in the days leading up to that firedrake's invasion. The man, who had spent uncountable hours in Erebor's main treasure hall, wandering between the vast mountains of precious, shiny rocks with a crazed and delusional look on his face. Thorin refused to believe that he was likely to become sick, that the same disease that had festered and fertilized within Thror might also slumber within him. He did not believe that he could be corrupted like his grandfather had been, that he could blinded by his love of gold and that he could be ensnared by the sickness that had trapped Thror, because he knew that where sickness presided only bad things could follow.

He refused to believe that he was leading this Company of men, that had last night after Balin's tale, looked upon him with such awe and trust, that he was willing to lead these men into certain death, the same men, who had given their loyalty and utter faith to him so trustfully. He refused to believe that he was willing to risk the lives of his nephews, the only family that he had left and whom he valued, despite their mischief and their sometimes youthful, immature behavior. He refused to believe that he was willing to risk the life of the last of his kin, his predecessor simply for his want of gold. That he was willing to risk the life of his oldest friends, of Balin and Dwalin, the former who had been his tutor, his companion for the majority of his life. He did want to think that he was willing to risk the lives of all of these men for his avarice. That he was leading them to Smaug for reasons that were not completely honorable. He did not want to think that he was leading them to Smaug. That he was leading _her_ to the beast.

He blinked his eyes as that last, particular train of thought assailed his mind and he looked up and his eyes were drawn to that distinct shock of bright red hair. He saw that she had just woken up and was sat up with that wild mass of untamable curls like a mane around her head and was owlishly blinking the sleep out of her eyes. He did not know what caused him to watch her more than he did with the others when he found himself alone, so transfixedly. He watched her as she looked down to her right at the still sleeping burglar, who he now knew was her cousin, yet whom he still thought to be almost disconcertingly close to each other. He watched her as she smiled beatifically and tenderly down at the man, who he had gathered was her best friend and how she rubbed the burglar's arm to wake him.

As he watched the caring interactions of the girl and the Halfling, he questioned how it would feel to have her soft and delicate fingers tenderly caressing his skin like the lighest and warmest of summer breezes; how it would feel to awaken to that, to her loving smile.

He shook his head and stood up in frustration at the direction his thoughts had taken. In an attempt to dispel these most disconcerting thoughts, he quickly moved away from his previous sleeping place, away from where he could continue watching her as she teased her cousin for his disheveled appearance, and proceeded to wake his company. He should find her an inconsequential creature, who was so beneath him that she warranted no other thought than her use for this quest. He should have established her as a naive, suburban young Hobbit girl from the Shire, who would no doubt be more trouble to him and his company than she was worth. But... Unwillingly, he had found her to be more than that... To be... Interesting... Surprising. What he could have easily construed as naivety was now viewed by him and he suspected also by most members of his company, as... Innocence, kindness, gentility.

Since Thorin had lost the mountain and had been forced to take work, wherever he could find it, he had quickly learned that all people had a purpose and that kindness, altruism only sprung from that need, was only a tool in the selfish pursuit of their self-crafted goals. He had quickly dispelled any beliefs in genuine kindness and selflessness. This had been another thing that had caused him to become even more embittered. But she... What purpose did she have to come on this quest? Of course, there was the gold and the profit, but that had not been of interest to her the night of the council. He doubted that she had been thinking about the gold both her and her cousin would receive after they had reclaimed Erebor, when she had stood before him and his company and had asked for forgiveness for the fact that she and her cousin had initially been reluctant joining them on their quest. When she had told him that what he had seen that night, as she had stood before him like a condemned prisoner was not pity, and she had looked up at him through her thick, long lashes and with her eyes shining she had told him that she felt compassion toward him. He had never pondered on the difference between compassion and pity, previously he would have thought them to be the same, yet now... He was no longer so sure.

What reason, what concealed and under-handed selfishness had she had, when she had gone up to the contemplative and reticent Bifur, whom he had expected to be the last person she would have ever talked with or sought out? When she had courageously offered her company and her friendship to the silent dwarf, when she had commended him on his silence and had apparently longed for it? What purpose had she had when she had smiled so brightly and genuinely that for a second Thorin had thought that she had rivaled the sun in its splendor and he had felt her joy, when Bifur had accepted her company? What reason had she had to look at him last night with disbelief and shock and... Another emotion that had caused the warmth in his chest, the sensation he now attributed to her to become almost unbearable in its intensity? What reason had she had to look at him the way she had looked at him last night, with self-deprecation, sadness and if he had to categorize it, something akin to beseeching?

Balin had just walked off in the direction of the camp fire, when he saw out of the corner of his eyes, that his still drowsy nephews had joined the company of the girl and the not completely lucid burglar, who sat by her side and smoked his early morning pipe. He saw how she smiled warmly and welcoming at them and they sat down beside the girl and Fili handed her a bowl of breakfast, which she thankfully accepted before attentively listening to something his youngest nephew was telling her. He felt resentment rise within him. Resentment at the fact, that the girl was proving to be a distraction to his nephews that she had hindered their entire attention being focused on the purpose of their quest and that his nephews' little attraction was distracting them. He was not blind to the lingering looks and touches of his nephews and to the attention they paid to the girl's well-being, and he knew what they meant.

It was not unusual for younger dwarves to be attracted to feminine members of other races, especially because that was one thing that dwarven women lacked. They lacked femininity and it was not unheard of, that they would be mistaken for men by non-dwarfish individuals. He expected her beauty to be the first thing that had ensnared his nephews' attentions. Her softness, which was so opposed to the hard and stony features of dwarfish women and her unmistakable femininity and delicateness. If that had been the only thing, Thorin would not have spent time pondering, worrying over his nephews' newest attraction, because during their lives he knew that his nephews thought female companionship to be of the biggest value. Yet in this case two things worried him, one was that both his nephews seemed enthralled by the same girl and he knew that out of this affair at least one of them would be hurt. The second thing was that he had seen the admiration in his nephews' eyes, aimed at her kindness and he feared that the same gentility that left him... Confused was what he would call it, wanted call it... Had deepened the relationship between the three of them. And he resented the girl because of that. Because she proved to be a distraction and she was proving to cause more trouble than he knew she would ultimately be able to solve.

Yet as he watched Kill pass a tender hand along the girl's cheekbones, the same biting feeling and causticity arose, that he had experienced when he had seen both her and the Halfling together, that he had experienced when he had thought her to be married; and he was not sure if this could be attributed to his resentment toward the girl.

* * *

Gandalf turned his back on the proud and arrogant expression of the dwarf king and, with resentment and annoyance coursing through him, he stalked away from the stubborn dwarf king. His gait hinting at fierceness, he strode past a puzzled Laurel and he decided to put as much distance between himself and the dwarves' camp as possible, as he needed to be alone for the moment, especially as he had a premonition, a caustic feeling concerning the choice of shelter that Thorin Oakenshield had found suitable for the night. He knew that there was something wrong about the place and that tonight would not carry the same pacifistic and mellow undertone, as the previous they'd had the fortune of experiencing.

He had exploited that ill feeling and had suggested to Thorin Oakenshield that they seek the council and advice of Lord Elrond and would use the opportunity and the hospitality the elves of the Valley of Imlandris would offer them to rest and recover from the exhaustion from the first leg of this journey.

But Thorin Oakenshield had decided that he would none of that. His resentment, his prejudice and hate toward the elvish race had reared its ugly head and had left the future King under the mountain blind to the needs of his company and to the benefits that seeking out the elves could have for them. Thorin resented Thranduil so much for his actions that day during Smaug's siege that he believed all elves to be selfish and unhelpful and intent to stop him. No, Thorin Oakenshield would never willingly seek out the help of a member of the elvish race, eventhough Gandalf was most assured that only Lord Elrond would be able to find the hidden clue about Erebor's secret entrance in the map. But Thorin despised elves with an intensity that was destructive and that hindered him from achieving the best for himself.

And then Gandalf thought about Laurel. He had spent many years on Middle Earth and he prided himself on being wiser than a few. Perhaps others had not perceived it, but he had seen the way that the red-haired girl and the invulnerable king under the mountain had regarded each other last night and before that he had spied the numerous times that Thorin's eyes had been on Belladonna Took's niece, at perhaps a frequency that even Thorin was unconscious to. He thought about the disastrous effects it would have not only on Laurel, but also on Thorin if it was found that Laurel was a half-elf. What would Thorin think if he knew that this girl was a member of the race he so despised?

"Where are you going, Gandalf?" Bilbo asked him as he strode past both him and Balin, who were following the wizard with their eyes. "To seek out the company of the only person with some sense here." he huffed. Bilbo looked contemplatively at that and asked with curiosity: "Who would that be?" "Myself, Master Baggins!"

* * *

She was crouching down beside Bombur and looked on as the chubby, red-haired dwarf proceeded to fill the bowls with the stew he had cooked for the night. "When do you think Gandalf will come back?", her Cousin asked with concern tinging his words and he was wringing his hands nervously. After Gandalf had left their company agitated and infuriated a few hours back she had been most disconcerted and had felt grieved, because due to her elvish hearing she had been able to make out the reason for Thorin and Gandalf's disagreement. Yet she had not said anything and she had been withdrawn and reserved, even when her cousin had questioned her quiet behaviour she had simply waved him off. Yet she felt similarly alarmed that night had long ago fallen and Gandalf still persisted in being gone.

"He's a wizard, he goes off at times and there is nothing you can do about it. Take these to the lads, will you burglar?" Bofur said in an attempt to dispelled Bilbo's concern for the elderly, wise man and handed him two bowls with stew to take to both Fili and Kili, who were also not present in the camp, because they had been charged with watching over the ponies. Eventhough alarm was still prominent in his features, Bilbo acquiesced to the demands and Laurel watched him as he disappeared in the prescient woods. She felt Bombur also handing her a bowl of stew and with a small smile and a nod at something behind her right shoulder, he stated: "Will you take Thorin's dinner to him, lass?" She licked her lips nervously at the request, but wishing to be of some use, she nodded her head and made her way to the brooding dwarven king.

To be of use. She would be taking herself for a fool, if she insisted that this was the only reason for her acquiescing to Bombur's request. Since she had found out that Thorin was the same man she had been dreaming about for almost two decades now, her curiosity toward the leader of the company had increased and she longed to find more about him, if she had been right in her assessment of him, as the most courageous of men, filled with integrity. She thought she was, especially from what she had witnessed, the respect his company showed toward him, their loyalty to him. She also wished to know, why he despised elves so much. She actually wished to know why all dwarves did so, but in his case, she was especially curious.

She handed him his dinner with an unsure smile on her face and then he looked up at her, when she did not leave as he had expected but continued to stand before him, pondering on how she could phrase what she so wanted to ask him. Wringing her hands in a similar way as Bilbo, she said in a thin voice: "I could not help, but overhear your and Gandalf's conversation." She did not allow herself to be deterred or discouraged by his scoff at her words and raising her head in confidence she asked him: "Why do you not wish to go to Rivendell?" He glared at her indignantly and asked her: "Did Gandalf put you up to this, girl?" She did not flinch, having expected this exact reaction from him and she felt her obstinacy and fiery spirit return within her and she was determined to not leave without an answer to her question: "No, he did not. I do not require of Gandalf's requests to act, to question. I simply wish to know why you would deny your company shelter and accommodations, that are not the road, simply because the place that offers them is Rivendell." He looked at her impassively, but still with a glare and spat in a low tone: "It would do you well to not question my decisions. What assistance could elves offer me after their king so _valiantly_ refused to help us when we were exiled from Erebor. When the dwarves needed elvish help none come, and none has come ever since." She looked disbelievingly at that and questioned the truth in his words, yet what reason would he have to be dishonest with her? She could not truly believe that he had made up what little explanation he had given to her and it would explain the resentment of the company towards elves.

Yet she still shook her head and stared at Thorin Oakenshield in disbelief. From what she had gathered he had only been wronged by a single individual, not by an entire race, he had generalized the elves and she asked him the question that now weighed heavily on her, because she knew that if they found out about her parentage they would condemn her and now she was aware that the reason would be most unjustified, because she had not abandoned them, she wouldn't have ever thought about it: "Would you truly judge an entire race, condemn innocents for the mistakes, the crimes of one individual?" Had she not been so absorbed by her question and her disbelief at the source of his prejudice, she would have delighted herself in the fact that Thorin, whom she thought nothing could disconcert, had furrowed his brows in response to her question, as if it was the first time this had been brought up to him and for a fraction of a second his eyes had widened in confusion and he had looked taken aback. But then his mask of impassiveness and superiority returned and effectively dismissing her, he said: "I do not expect you to understand anything, girl. You know nothing of the world beyond your Hobbit hole." She averted her gaze then and with indignation at Thorin Oakenshield and his arrogance, she pondered whether to continue this quite pointless discussion or to depart and seek out the much more agreeable company of Bifur. Yet before she could reach a decision, she heard Thorin state warningly: "Stay away from my nephews. You do them no favor by providing them with a distraction." She looked up at him and furrowed her brow at his solemnity. "They have more important things to think about than you." She felt a pang of hurt at his words and then she spat bitterly: "I simply offer them my friendship. Forgive me if that offends you." Without allowing him to respond to her words, she whirled around and took off in the direction she had seen her cousin depart to previously. Pained at Thorin's callousness and admonishing of her.


	14. Sonnet Of Implacable Sweetness

_"If each day, each hour, you feel that you are destined for me with implacable sweetness, if each day a flower climbs up to your lips to seek me, ah my love, ah my own, in me all that fire is repeated, in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten, my love feeds on your love, beloved, and as long as you live it will be in your arms without leaving mine"- If you forget me Pablo Neruda_

In the inky blackness of the night, he moved toward the familiar, sturdy silhouettes of Fili and Kili, who were stood impassively staring at something in the distance. He moved toward them and proceeded to hand them the bowls of stew, which they did not take and them taking note of his arrival said in a low voice: "We were supposed to look after the ponies, but we have encountered a problem. We were supposed to look after sixteen ponies, but we encounter now only fourteen. Daisy and Bungo have gone missing."

He walked after them, as the two brothers strode through the clearing that the company had chosen for their horses to rest in, no doubt wanting recount the present animals, in hopes that they had only made a mistake. But as Bilbo watched the somber faces of the two young dwarves, which did not lighten in relief, as he had hoped he said: "Oh dear. It would be best if we tell Thorin." And he immediately bristled against the idea, as he imagined the indignation of the intimidating elder dwarf. Bilbo would never admit this, because he was quite wary of Thorin and he knew that he would most likely never earn the respect and friendship of this bitter dwarf, who seemed to resent his presence every time Thorin looked at him. He knew that Thorin would most likely admonish the Hobbit more severely than his nephews thankful for a reason to dispel his unveiled contempt at the smaller man.

"No, no. It would not be wise to worry uncle with these inconsequential matters." Fili said, waving his right hand in a dismissive gesture and Bilbo knew that Fili was also fearful of his uncle's reaction to their incompetence. Before Bilbo could question the two dwarves on their proceeding, he was interrupted by the sound of heavy, sonorous footfalls, which shattered the almost idyllically quiet nature of the evening. He felt the forest floor tremble beneath him, as if in warning of an approaching menace. The next thing he saw was a titanic, lumpy shape moving through the night and Bilbo scrambled in order to conceal itself from this intruder, which he was not familiar with. Yet he saw that the brothers, concealed by the greenery of the forest had made to move after the monster and Bilbo not wishing to be left alone, lest he cross path with monsters of the similar capacity that he had just seen, went after them, his grips on the bowls he had clutched having tightened greatly.

Soon, he could see that the inky darkness of the forest was dispelled by a fire in the distance and he saw the great, stocky individual, who he could now discern more closely and how it almost seemed to be made of Stone, due to the ashen and amour-like quality of its skin. He crouched down beside the brothers, who hid from sight behind a fallen log and they whispered to him: "Mountain Trolls." Bilbo supposed that he had read about them before in his books, for the name was not foreign to him. He could now recall that the book had spoken of their uncouthness and their putrid scent and that it had mentioned something, a detail about sunlight, but he did not pay any mind to that, as he heard Fili say: "You have to rescue the ponies. The trolls are stupid, slow and sluggish. And you are so small, you could most definitely pass undetected." Fili took the bowl from his hand and his brother soon did the same, agreeing with Fili's plan. He felt alarm and fear rise in him, as the brother's proceeded to push him toward the troll's camp assuring him that they would be right behind him if anything were to happen to him and to hoot twice like a brown owl and once like a barn owl, if he needed their assistance.

Bilbo did not even have enough time to ponder the fact that he had no idea what distinguished the sound of a barn owl from that of a brown owl, when he was quite literally thrust into this task. He remembered the size of the troll he had seen and the apparent power and strength when he had simply walked normally and Bilbo knew that his fragile body would not be able to withstand the pressure if a troll were to sit upon him or step on him. He was prepared to decline the brothers' demands, when he turned around to find himself quite abandoned by the dwarves, as they had already left.

Bilbo straightened his waistcoat and with silent steps he approached the company of the three trolls, who were currently having a conversation, or discussion about their dinner. Immediately, the foul scent of the trolls assailed his nostrils and Bilbo had to stop himself from gagging at the intensity of the foulness. Yet despite his nausea, he did feel a determination and head-strength that he felt even Laurel would envy. Perhaps the brothers were right and he could pass undetected if he was simply stealthy and exploited those creatures' apparent stupidity. Perhaps with his success in this task, he could thus earn the respect of the company of dwarves, whom he still felt mocked him and were unsure about him. Perhaps he could dispel the discomfort every interaction with the dwarves held for him. Perhaps, and this was a big if, he could even earn the grudging appreciation of Thorin Oakenshield. He did not have time to ask himself why he was even minding the dwarves' and Thorin Oakenshield's opinion of him before, he started to hatch a possible escape strategy for him and the four ponies.

On his knees, he quietly moved to the enclosure the ponies were located in to prevent their escape, yet this was most alarmingly close to where the three trolls were sat. Yet they were so busy discussing food, that Bilbo was encouraged that perhaps he could do this. He hushed the ponies that neighed at his sight and he began to try and loosen the rope that acted as a barrier for the ponies. Yet the coarse material did not give out and the knot was too tightly made, which again left him feeling that this rescue mission would prove without bounty. Then he glimpsed the metallic blade, as it reflected the moon's light, when one of the trolls moved, into Bilbo's eyes and he moved closer to the distracted troll wanting to snatch his knife and use it to cut the rope.

But what happened next caused dread and fear to spread like icy water in his veins, as the trolls calloused, sweaty hands grabbed him and he lifted Bilbo to his face and sneezed upon him. He cringed in disgust as he felt himself covered with the slimy, putrid, sticky substance and he looked upon the surprised faces of the trolls to see that he had been captured. The troll that had grasped him looked at him in alarm, believing that Bilbo had come out of his posterior and he threw Bilbo to the side, almost in disgust. He landed roughly, but before he could attempt to leave this threatening situation one of the other two trolls had their cooking knife trained at him and he asked in a coarse and uncultured sounding voice: "What are we then? An oversized squirrel?" "I am a burglar... I mean a Hobbit." Bilbo answered quickly eyeing the blade that was closer to him than he felt comfortable with.

"A burglarhobbit? Can we cook him?" The troll asked in menacing curiosity and then he saw how the one that had thrown him to the ground previously moved and attempted to once more grasp him, while saying with a demonic smile: "We can try." With an agility that he did not know he possessed he moved away from the troll's grubby hands and the implications of the situation he now found himself in were all but forgotten to him, as he felt adrenaline propel him and he focused on escaping from the dumb creatures that wanted to eat him.

It did not matter, that he had been almost quick enough to leave, because as he escaped from the circle that the three trolls had pushed him in, his hopes were cut disappointingly short, as he felt one of the troll's grimy hands grab him at his ankles and he was now swung upside down, only supported from falling and hanging in mid-air by the troll's grasp. Then he heard a grunt coming from the shrubbery to his left and he shifted his body to see Kili emerging from the bushes and cutting down the troll at his right, who responded to the inflicted injury by squealing loudly and falling to the ground wounded. He felt relief at seeing Kili and was thankful that the brothers had apparently been sincere in what they had promised him. "Drop him!" Kili demanded loudly and authoritatively off the trolls, who simply looked at the dark-haired dwarf, whose lips were twisted in a cocky smile after his victory against one of the trolls. The troll holding him simply sneered, exposing his rotting, yellow teeth, before he swung Bilbo back and onto Kili and they both went down to the ground from the impact, just when all the remaining twelve dwarves of Thorin Oakenshield's Company emerged and proceeded to fight the trolls loudly.

Looking at the fray and the tumult of fighting dwarves and bumbling trolls, Bilbo knew that he would only be in the way if he remained in the clearing and so he crouched down once more and moved off in the direction of the ponies, still intent to carry out the task the Brothers had assigned him.

Suddenly, he felt himself be once more grabbed by those calloused hands, which he had become to dread and then he felt the trolls hold him extended by his four limbs and he looked at the Company of dwarves, with Thorin at the forefront, panting and looking incredulously and grudgingly at the situation their highly-recommended burglar had gotten himself into once more.

"Lay down your arms or we'll rip his off." The chubbiest and tallest of the trolls said in his hoarse voice and Bilbo looked at Thorin and his dwarves with what he could only described as beseeching and sorrow- beseeching that Thorin would decide that his burglar was of enough importance to warrant the capture that was bound to follow and sorrow at his incompetence and his realization of how out of his depth he truly was. Thorin cocked his head and looked at Bilbo with what could only be described as intense frustration and contempt before he sneered and threw down his swords. The others soon followed their leader's actions.

* * *

He shook his head, as he felt indignation course through him and he looked to the side at the Halfling, who was lying in a burlap sack like all of them, except the ones that were currently tied to a spit over the camp fire of the trolls, being roasted. He made sure to glare at the Hobbit, who surely felt the extents of his contempt and anger as he proceeded to squirm to the side, attempting to get away from the dwarves, who were all annoyed at the halfling.

Yet Thorin was not annoyed. He was furious and his resentment at the Halfling had only risen at this further proof of his incompetence as a burglar. How could he hope to outsmart Smaug, if he was not stealthy enough to pass by undetected by these stupid and bumbling creatures, that were trolls. He felt intense embarrassment at his imprisonment, had he not acquiesced to the trolls' demands, he and his Company would have surely escaped, but as he had looked up at the halfling's beseeching face he had not been able to continue with the fight and allow him to be torn apart. He did not know what had caused him to feel pity for the Hobbit and to not let him suffer the consequences of his bumbling incompetence, but it was as if all the senses in his body had rebelled against the action, and he had grudgingly laid down his sword and spared the Halfling this untimely demise.

But this did not stop Thorin from being furious at the Halfling, who had overestimated his capabilities and had joined this quest and now proved himself to be only a burden and Thorin did for the first moment fear that perhaps their quest was cut short and that their end was approaching. It would be a most humiliating way to die, not at all befitting of him. Battle-hardened warriors, like him and Dwalin, were not as sensitive and fearful of death as others, since in the battle-field they knew that death was a constant company to them. They had experienced near-death numerous times during battles and so were not as alarmed by it. Dying in battle was honorable, they would receive the status of a martyr, and that was the greatest honour Thorin could think of. But dying like this, stripped of his armor, only in his underclothes, constrained by a burlap sack and awaiting to be cooked and eaten by these huge, slightly disoriented morons was intensely humiliating to him and he felt his resentment toward the halfling only strengthen.

As he watched the trolls, who were currently discussing cooking techniques, he felt defeat slowly taking a hold of him. But then, suddenly, he felt small, delicate hands tenderly brush his long hair aside and tug at the fastening of the sack. Somehow he knew who it was without turning around and, choosing to ignore the burning sensation that her hands brushing his hair, touching the skin of his nape and her proximity had kindled within him, he lowly, mindful of not making the trolls aware of her presence, asked: "What are you doing here?" "What do you think?", she whispered in his ear and he felt her warm breath on the shell of his ear. In response, his breathing quickened and came in quick, shallow pants, his heart raced, sensastions that at this moment he had attributed to agitation and annoyance at the girl, unable...  _unwilling_... to find another explanation for his body's response to her. He shifted his head slightly and glared at her profile: "You have to leave." She looked up from the knot and hissed: "I am trying to help you, you ungrateful grump!" His nostrils flared at her insult and contemptuously he said: "I don't need your help!" She scoffed slightly and shook her head and smirked at him: "Save me from the stubbornness of dwarves." He felt annoyance at her being here, but through this he felt concern and at the moment this sensation was too strong to question, to question why the Girl had even invoked this worry and he simply needed her to leave. He did not want to see her awaiting her demise like the rest of his men, he could not. "Laurel, do as I say." At his use of her given name, she looked up at him and blinked. Before she could reply, however he saw her being snatched up by a large fist, that had previously grabbed her cousin in the same manner and he heard her alarm, as she struggled to free herself off her captor.

Fueled by the sight of her distress and the certainty of what was to come next, he started to struggle against his constraints, determinedly, desperately, and the vehemence with which he did this only increased, as it was fueled by her soft grunts of frustrations. He heard Kili and Bilbo exclaim her name and felt the shuffling of his nephew before him, as he too seemed determined to free himself and help the girl.

"Are ya also a flubberblubberhobbit?" He saw that for a second, Laurel had stopped struggling against the troll's hold and had looked up at him in confusion at what he had asked her. Before she could answer him, another troll simply said: "Doesn't matter what she is, as long as we can eat her." Her eyes grew wide and she startled to struggle in earnest now, mindful of her self-preservation. The troll that was holding her threw her to the side and she landed roughly, before pushing herself up. Her shoulder slumped in defeat, as she saw that their was no way to escape the trolls, as they had her surrounded. One of the trolls threw a burlap sack at her and said: "Go on then. Take off your clothes and lie them on the pile over by that tree and get in the sack." She clutched the sack and looked at the trolls wide-eyed at their request and Thorin immediately grew angry that they would violate her dignity in this manner. Sensing her hesitation, the troll sneered: "Do it, or we will eat you whole."

He knew that he should have averted his eyes from the display before him, it would have been the honorable thing to do. But it was as if his eyes were glued on her form, as if he needed to gaze upon her and was powerless against his body's demands. He watched her as she revealed inch per inch of her ivory, creamy skin and as she had shed off her clothes and stood before him only in her underclothes, he felt his heart race in his chest, his breathing quicken and arousal rising within him. He looked on as she shed her clothes and revealed her white underclothes that screamed of her innocence, but that were decorated with strips of lace that were almost maddeningly sensual. He felt his mouth go dry, as the light of the flames illuminated her in such a way that he could glimpse the tantalizing curve of her breasts through her camisole that reached a little above her abdomen, so that he could see her dainty waist. He watched as her vibrant red curls cascaded down her back and contrasted with the milky whiteness of her skin and Thorin was left to wonder how her hair would feel in his hands, wrapped tightly around his wrist. He focused on her glowing red cheeks and her rosy lips against her white skin, which appeared to glow with a golden tinge as the light of the flames were reflected off it. Like raspberries on cream.

He exhaled heavily, shakily.

She made him dizzy with desire.

The last thing he saw before the burlap sack was pulled up and the enchantment on him was broken, was a gathering of freckles on her right shoulders. Laurel lay down a little distance from the men and he could feel the embarrassment and humiliation radiating off her in waves.

He breathed heavily, as he attempted to slow the galloping pace of his heart and tried to recover from the intense sensations that had ensnared him. He felt alarm at the feelings that had taken a hold of him- of the desire he had felt for her, a feeling that had been unprecedented in its intensity. He exhaled shakily and then he heard the low voice of his nephew: "At least I'll die a happy man, now." He felt caustic indignation seize him and he proceeded to kick his nephew in the back to punish him for his ungallant comment, while he tried to get his own tumultuous feelings under control.

"Wait, you are going about this in the wrong manner. You can't cook the dwarves this way. I mean have you smelled them?" He heard the halfling's loud voice on his right and again he looked at the Hobbit darkly. The little, treacherous ferret wanted to sell them out in the hopes that perhaps the trolls would spare him. He heard the indignated outcry of his kin, yet he kept silent and watched him with disgust.

"The secret to cooking dwarf is... To skin them first." Thorin started to struggle against his constraints vehemently, a need to hurt the Hobbit for his words propelling him. The other dwarves in the company were similarly outraged and he could hear Laurel as she exclaimed her cousin's name in alarm and disbelief.

"What a load of rubbish. I have eaten plenty of dwarves with their skin on. Nice and crunchy." One of the trolls then grabbed Bombur and dangled the ginger dwarf over his open mouth and Thorin once more wished to free himself to come to the rescue of his kin. "NO!" he heard her shriek from his right "Not this one. He has worms in his... Tubes?" His gaze was pulled to her, as she looked down quizically at her exclamation and he questioned her intentions. Yet whatever she had attempted, her claim had caused the troll to let go of Bombur in disgust and the chubby dwarf went sailing through the air, until he landed on his kin, who emitted a pained 'oomph' at the impact and the weight of the dwarf. "YES! YES!", he heard the burglar state with enthusiasm "In fact they are all riddled with parasites. It's a terrible business. I wouldn't risk, I really wouldn't." He looked at the pair of hobbits, who were nodding their heads vehemently at their words and then it dawned on Thorin. They were trying to stall for time, to perhaps even get them out. Thorin did not know what this could have solved, but he knew that it was better than passively allowing them to be eaten. So as he saw Laurel and Bilbo's exasperated expressions at Kili, who was loudly declaring: "I don't have parasites. You have parasites!" He once more kicked Kili in the back and then it seemed as if the rest of the vompany had grasped the hobbits' intention and they proceeded to declare that they had huge parasites, the size of their arms.

"Well, what would you have us do then? Let them all go?", the trolls addressed the hobbits and then he heard the loud voice of Gandalf, as he stepped into view and said: "The dawn will take you all." With those words, Gandalf brought his cane down and effectively split the rock he was standing upon and allowed sunlight to fill the clearing. He saw how the three trolls hardened and turned to stone before their eyes. Silence enveloped the clearing, until it was broken by her bell-like peal of relieved laughter, which prompted all the dwarves and Bilbo to join in her amusement. Even he could not help, but smile as he saw Gandalf, who had saved them and at the knowledge that they were now out of harm's way.

* * *

"Where did you go to if I may ask?" He approached Gandalf, who was studying the stone statures of the trolls contemplatively. Gandalf turned to him and stated: "To look ahead." What brought you back?", he asked as he came to a stop before the wizard and eyed him with reserve, questioning the reason for his return. "Looking behind." He did not fully understand the connotations of Gandalf's words, but he was grateful that the wizard had not abandoned them and left them behind. So he allowed a small grateful smirk to twist his lips and he bowed his head in thanks to the weathered, elder man. "No harm done. Still you are all in one piece." Gandalf stated with congeniality and Thorin could not stop the twinge of bitterness to intermingle his relief at their rescue and said lowly: "No thanks to your burglars." Gandalf looked at him incredulously and slightly offended: "They had the nouse to play for time. None of the rest of you thought of that." Reprimanded he looked down, before he glimpsed out of the corner of his eyes that the burglar had scooped up his cousin, who was still in the burlap sack and had her clothes clutched in her hands with her arms around the halfling's neck to support herself and they both moved off into the forest, no doubt so she could dress herself in privacy and preserve some of her modesty. He looked after her for a few long seconds, even after she had disappeared from his view and then he dedicated himself to his conversation with Gandalf, where the two wondered what the trolls had been doing so far south.


	15. Sweet Flower

_"I ne'er was struck before that hour with love so sudden and so sweet, Her face it bloomed like a sweet flower and stole my heart away complete. My face turned pale as deadly pale. My legs refused to walk away, and when she looked, what could I ail? My life and all seemed turned to clay."- First Love, John Clare_

He stepped out of the dark shadow the trolls' cave threw on the ground. He stood quietly for a moment and took a deep breath in hopes of dispelling the foul, putrid stench that prevailed in his nostrils from his time spent in the trolls' dark and concealed hideout. His uncle Thorin and Gandalf had realized that the trolls'd had to have a hide out this far to the south, and since they could not move in the daylight. So, in acquiescence to their leader's demands, they had spent the morning searching for the cave and had found it about two miles east from the clearing the trolls had tried to eat them in.

Enjoying the contrast of breathing in the crisp and humid scent of the forest rather than being smothered with the smell of foul decay that had prevaded in the trolls' cave, he let his eyes roam over his surroundings and, in an unconscious defensive mechanism, he let his hand rest on the hilt of his sword. Always be alert to any danger and be prepared to fight any hazard that comes your way, never allow yourself to be put in a vulnerable position. That is what his uncle had taught him ever since he had been strong enough to be able to hold a sword. He was no fool, he knew exactly that for him the purpose of this quest did not only lie in recovering his rightful halls, but that it was a way to prove himself to Thorin, to show his uncle that he had absorbed his education, that he could be a leader as rightful and fierce, as his uncle. Additionally, he knew that Thorin was watching him carefully on this journey and was seeing whether he would act and prove himself a leader. Of course, his uncle watched every member of the company closely, yet him most of all. Him, Thorin's eldest nephew, whom he had, since earliest childhood, groomed to be a leader. The one he expected... demanded... maturity and level-headedness from.

So, Fili was plagued with responsibility, and it sprung not only from his uncle's careful scrutiny, but also because his little brother, had decided to join their uncle's company. His little brother, who was simultaneously his best friend, whom he had taught to sword fight, when a small, doe-eyed Kili had come up to him and had complained that their uncle only focused on Fili and paid him the most attention. His little brother, who he loved more than anything else, whom their mother had only allowed to go on the Erebor quest reluctantly. Fili knew that he had to keep an eye on his little brother and he was fearful of allowing Kili to be exposed to the hazards they would likely face on this journey. He knew that the trolls had been one of the more harmless dangers. Yet, still the company had been captured and only out of a stroke of luck had they not ended up as the trolls' dinner. It had been his and Kili's fault that they had gotten captured. Perhaps the burglar's as well, but he had been able to redeem himself by diverting the trolls' attention until Gandalf had arrived and saved them. After that his painful knowledge had only been once more confirmed. The knowledge that he was not a natural born and inspiring leader as his uncle. His uncle, who radiated silent authority and inspired loyalty without any ardous efforts. The man that everyone seemed in awe of. Who every single member of the company had fearful respect of and who no one dared to cross or question.

No one except one that is, Fili thought. As that train of thought crossed his mind, he felt his lips twist into a wide and affectionate grin and his eyes immediately came to rest upon the fiery hobbit girl, who Fili had become so fond of since that night in Bag End. She was not scared to show Thorin Oakenshield what she thought of him and his self-assuredness at times. Who had not been deterred that evening of the council to admonish his uncle, the rightful king under the mountain, when he had shown an atricious lack of courtesy and manners toward her cousin, in her opinion. Who had surprised him so greatly when she had called out his uncle, not deterred even when she surely had grasped due to the solemnity and respect that had oozed off every dwarf, that Thorin Oakenshield was a figure of respect amongst their race. Yet his shock had soon morphed to amusement. He had been amused and admittedly slightly awestruck, that this girl who had appeared so fragile and delicate to him had proved to possess such a fiery spirit. It was not that she was disrespectful. No, Fili could see that she did recognize his uncle's authority and his station and treated him with the correct amount of respect that was a leader's due, but she refused to be submissive, she was not deterred to speak her mind. Even after Fili had told her on the first day's ride that Thorin was the rightful king under the mountain and for a few seconds her eyes had widened almost comically, before she had gotten a contemplative look on her face and then pursed her lips and shrugged her shoulders almost imperceptibly. He'd had to resist the urge to snort aloud then, because he knew without asking, that she had been reflecting on her behaviour toward his uncle during their first meeting and their confrontation and he had found it refreshing that she had not regretted or dreaded her actions, even after discovering that Thorin was king and part of the line of Durin. Fili knew that she meant no disrespect, she only wanted to be treated fairly and would not tolerate that she and her cousin were handled unjustly, only because of the fact that they were hobbits. And her fiery and tigerish temper amused him. It surprised him; even now, especially after last night when she had saved Bombur's life, by claiming that the dwarves were infected with parasites and she had stood her ground against the trolls.

But that was not the only thing that surprised Fili about Laurel Took. More often than not he would be astonished at her kindness and her genuinety. Her openness and acceptance toward the dwarves, even when Fili knew that she had never seen another dwarf before, when he knew that she had never stepped foot outside of the Shire, where only the hobbits resided. The race of dwarves was one that was proud and narrow-minded, especially concerning non-dwarfish individuals. And from this sprung the prejudice of many dwarves toward other races and the firm belief that dwarves were superior- in their crafts and in battle. That is why some member of the company, especially the elder ones like Thorin himself and Gloin were still wary toward the two hobbits that had joined their company in the Shire. That is why he was still reluctant in recognizing Master Baggins' burglar abilities. Yet, try as he might, he had not been able to show the same wariness toward Laurel. No, he hadn't. Not when she had been so open and enthusiastic to befriend him and his brother. Not when she had gone up to Bifur, whom he knew was especially fond of her, and had offered her companionship to the reticent dwarf, the last person he had thought she would have gone up to. When she had been so genuine in her wish and had not minded the incredulity and the confusion from every dwarf that had been aimed at her when she had joined Bifur on that night and had spoken her soft words to him. Not when her kindness was something that had deepened the attraction he felt toward her and was a facet of her that seemed to surprise every dwarf, even his uncle, whom he had always experienced as so invulnerable and aloof. Even his callous uncle was perplexed by Laurel, because why else would Fili often find that when they had gathered around the camp fire, his uncle would be looking in their direction with his eyes trained on the red-haired girl with an intense and unreadable gaze. Surely Thorin was confused, why else would he scrutinize Laurel in this manner?

As he looked at Laurel, who was sitting on a dry log with her head tipped back slightly to absorb the midday sun, which illuminated her ivory skin, he was once more struck with the impression he'd first had of her, when she had opened the green door to Bag End and smiling she had welcomed him and his brother into her home. He'd thought her to be an angel and for a second he'd questioned if she was even real, or not just a heavenly creature with kind beauty. Yet if her beauty was the only thing that drew him to her, if her kindness and her gentility had not ensnared him, he would have been able to disregard her in favour of this quest that he knew was of immeasurable importance, which he knew would earn him his uncle's recognition, something that he had coveted for so long. Perhaps he should have rued her, rued that he had met her at this point in his life, which was so crucial and where he did not require any form of distraction. Perhaps he should have rued her for albeit unknowingly providing that distraction. Yet he could not. Not when he came down to sit beside her and her gaze shifted to him, as she sensed his arrival.

Not when she smiled at him welcomingly and then that radiant smile widened as she saw the state of his clothing and she whispered in her soft, warm voice: "You're all dusty from that blasted cave." She then proceeded to gently pet and remove the dust from his clothing and the contact caused Fili's breathing to quicken and for him to grow even warmer beneath his heavy armour. How could he rue having met her then? As her hands moved on to his shoulders, he gently put his atop of hers and he once more marveled, how her hand was much smaller and softer than his. He studied their hands and then he looked up at her and she had her brows slightly furrowed, silently questioning him but still smiling all the same. The urge to lower his lips to hers became too strong to resist then.

And he would have. He would have kissed her, if it had not been for Kili arriving at that very second. He felt her withdraw her hands from beneath his and immediately she put some distance between them, before focusing her attention on his brother, who was looking upon Laurel with anticipation and had his hands behind his back, almost as if he was hiding something. With chagrin at the interruption, he looked at Kili and he saw the same affection he felt towards her reflected on his brother's young Features, in his affectionate, and wide smile and immediately Fili grew grave at that. He loved his brother more than anything in the world and the thought of causing him pain was unimaginable, almost unendurable. They had grown up together and even if they'd not shared a bond of blood, the natural bond between two brothers, he knew that he and Kili would have been the best of friends in any way, that the bond between them would have been formed, that they would have found each other. Yet... he wanted to be with Laurel. He knew that. He wanted to be with her and he'd never felt that same wish with any of the other women he had been interested in. Yet that would undoubtedly cause his brother pain. He sighed inwardly and decided to push these thoughts aside for the moment. They were all on a perilious journey. If they reclaimed Erebor... when they reclaimed Erebor he amended cockily, then he would focus on solving the issues between the three of them. Then would they focus on the conflict that had inadvertently formed, as soon as they had laid eyes on Laurel.

"I have something for you.", Kili said in an indulgent and affectionate whisper and this caused Laurel's smile to widen at the brother and her brows to raise in questioning.

He saw how her eyes got a glint of awe in them, when Kili returned his Hands from behind his back and grasped in them he had a small sword, that he had found in the trolls' cave and which was of a good size for Laurel. She rose in solemn awe and took the sheathed sword from Kili's outstretched hands, before unsheathing it and holding it before her and looking at it in amazement with a small, yet joyous smile on her face. He saw how the curved blade reflected the light of the sun, which fell upon it in a bright glint and how that was reflected on her right cheek. Then she resheathed the blade before embracing Kili gratefully and expressing her thanks. He saw how his brother's eyes closed at the feel of her embracing him and how he relished the contact and tightly returned the hug. Jealously, Fili decided to interrupt by saying: "That blade will be of no use to you, if you know not how to use it." She turned at his words and then looked at him and then he smiled indulgingly and said: "If you want I... we can teach you... just so you can defend yourself." She smiled at him and nodded her head with vehemence. He chuckled and continued to observe the girl, who almost seemed to be brimming with anticipation now.

* * *

Her arms ached. Excrutiantingly. Despite the fact that she had shed her long, red overcoat and her waistcoat and she stood only clad in her thin white shirt and her beige trousers, she was still warm and she raised her forearm to wipe the sweat that was running down her cheek. She had freed her red hair from the tight braid that had scooped her curls together, longing to feel the wind blow through them. Not for the first time this travel did she confound her long curls and she was sorely tempted to take the blade that Kili had gifted her and simply cut them off, so that it would be more convenient. But, earlier, her cousin had gathered her intent when she had fingered her curls unappreciatively and inducing a comical amount of menace in his voice he had told her: "Don't you dare!" She had shook her head at Bilbo and smiled at him, yet she had heeded her cousin's wish and had not cut off her long red hair. She would braid it together later, but at this moment she relished the lack of pressure on her scalp, as the tight braid pulled uncomfortably at the skin on her head.

Yet, despite her physical exhaustion and slight discomfort, she could not help but feel carefree amusement at the impromptu sword fighting lesson, that the two brothers had organized for this evening. They had left the troll cave shortly after midday and then a rainy deluge had come upon them and had left her and the rest of the company completely soaked and very disgruntled, some more than others. Her hair still cascaded damply down her back and moistened the fresh shirt she had put on, as her other clothing was now drying beside the campfire. The brothers had come up to her after she had put down her clothes and had indulged in the promise they had given her in front of the troll cave at midday. They had taken her aside and she was now busy lifting her sword to build up some strength in her arms, as Fili had put it and she bit her lips resisting the urge to laugh at her no doubt appaling form. She looked to her right to see Bilbo panting heavily as he too had partaken in the brother's lesson to become dexterous with the sword Gandalf had given him. It pained her to admit, but her cousin made a horrible form. Him that did not appear intimidating in the slightest, swinging that handsome blade with his shoulders slumped and his face contorted in a pained expression. She knew that she was just as bad and was sure that her and her cousin were providing unlimited amusement to the battle-weary and weapon-skilled dwarves. They seemed to be enjoying themselves, especially as periodically there would be exclamations and interjections from the other dwarves, that had gathered at the campfire, who were watching them, either correcting something that her or her cousin had done or supplementing what the brothers were teaching them.

She sighed and turned her head to her cousin and said: "I believe that I much prefer the dry branches that we used to use a few years back." Her cousin looked up and pursed his lips unhappily before muttering something that sounded like 'You're telling me!' She chuckled at that, before shifting her gaze and returning her attention to the blade, she was busy lifting up and down.

Her head snapped up when, suddenly, she heard heavy footsteps approaching the four of them. She was met with the sight of Thorin Oakenshield, as he approached them with a disapproving expression on his face. She immediately expected and dreaded that he would admonish them, that he would admonish her and her cousin for accepting his nephews' teaching offer, especially when he had warned her to stay away from Fili and Kili, to stop being a distraction. She worried that he would mock her and Bilbo for their obvious lack of skill and would once more tell them of their lack of suitability for this quest. Yet what happened next surprised her.

He adressed his nephews and said admonishingly: "You are not teaching her properly. You have not taken into consideration that she is smaller and slighter than the two of you, than dwarves."

And then he came up to her and proceeded to correct her stance. She felt him reposition her arms and she felt as if the warmth of his hands had seeped through the thin fabric of her shirt and onto her skin. Her breathing hitched and she looked up at his face that was so close to her, that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her sensitive, pointed ears. He was saying something to her, but it was as if she was in a veil, as if her senses were muted due to his proximity.

She inhaled sharply when his calloused hands moved toward her waist so he could reposition her legs and it was as if for a moment she had stopped breathing and consisted only of warmth. She licked her dry lips nervously and continued to look at Thorin's handsome face with slight surprise. As if sensing her scrutinizing gaze, he looked up and his stormy eyes met hers.

At a distance she would have surely missed it, but she was so close to him... close enough that she could see a slight softening to his steely gaze when his eyes met hers, that he held her gaze and that he no longer looked upon her in disapprovement and slight contempt, but with something else that was indistinguishable, unreadable.

He held her gaze for a few seconds that for her seemed to stretch eternally long. His hands had unconsciously tightened on her slim waist. To her it felt as if they had stood for hours in this position, when in reality only a few short seconds had passed.

Yet it had not been long enough, because then, and from a distance she would have again not perceived it, his brows furrowed and the right corner of his lips twitched in not a smirk, but in an expression that expressed dissatisfaction at something which only he knew about. He cocked his head to the side still holding her gaze and then she saw the slight shaking of his head and his hands left her waist and he turned away and stalked off without a further word.

She felt a sense of loss and exhaled heavily. She continued watching his retreating back not in elation, not in exhaustion, but in inexplicable disappointment.

* * *

He sneered as he looked toward the flames from the campfire of the dwarves and he observed the sturdy and stocky silhouette of the members from Thorin Oakenshield's company with distaste and contemptous hate. He had found them and he had to cringe hatefully, as the jovial laughter of these creatures grated in his ears. Without taking his eyes off his most despised prize he spat to his inferior, who was stood behind him: "Send word to the master..." And then he induced as much hate as he could in the next words, thinking of how Thorin Oakenshield had wronged his leader, the one all revered for his unquestionable malevolence: "... We have found the dwarf-scum."


	16. The Caged Bird

_"The caged bird sings with a fearful trill of things unknown but longed for still and his tune is heard on the distant hill for the caged bird sings of freedom."- I know why the caged bird sings, Maya Angelou_

Her heart was racing and it felt as if it would burst out of her chest at any second, as she pressed herself against the stony facade of the huge boulder they were hid behind.

They were hiding.

They were hiding from the grotesque and bloodthirsty abominations that chased them, that were on their heels and no doubt out for their blood. Had she not been filled with dread she would have perhaps seen the irony of the situation, seen that it was comical that the morning had started so idyllically with the company having found rest in a forest clearing, where the early morning sun had shone and the light had been reflected by the dew drops on the greenery. She would have found it funny that the morning had started so peacefully and that it had only taken a few minutes for the situation to be completely reversed in that they now were in a hazardous and frightening, potentially life-threatening situation. She could still remember how it had all began. How they had stood off to the sides, and she had leaned against the trunk of an old tree, while Gandalf conversed with Radagast the Brown, one of the wizards from his order. She remembered what a fright she had gotten when the disheveled and filthy, slightly confused wizard had emerged from the dense forest growth on a wooden sleigh led by a group of rabbits. Yet the fright that she had gotten at the sight did not compare with what she felt now. Now she felt pure and undiluted fear and panic.

_A long, chilling howl sounded from behind her and before they could question what type of beast had created the sound, she felt a current of air above her and the next thing she saw was a great, fury beast with wild, yellow, cruel eyes landing before her. She did not have time to taken in the beast, which was gnarling and growling with its huge, lolling tongue and its sharp, yellow teeth, before it was quickly cut down by Dwalin, who swung his axe onto the creature's sturdy neck and the beast went down with a shrill cry of pain. The monster was soon followed by another, but before that one could reach the clearing from the peak of the hill it stood upon, Kili had already shot it down with one of his precise arrows. The creature tumbled down toward them, still intent on causing them pain, but was soon liquidated when Thorin swung his new, elvish blade upon it._

_With a cry of disgust, Thorin wrenched his blade free from the creature's neck and Laurel had to look away as warm, dark, sticky blood came flowing out of the wound like an ever-flowing, interminable stream. "Warg Scouts.", she heard Thorin exclaim with disgust and disbelief dripping from his words. She looked up at him and saw that he was looking down at the beast with pure hatred and then he turned to his company and said with alarm: "Which means an Orc Pack is not far behind." Beside her, she heard Bilbo exclaim with alarm and fear: "Orc Pack?"_

_"Who did you tell about this quest beyond your kin?" Gandalf questioned Thorin sternly and in response the brooding dwarf furrowed his brows and said: "No one!" "Who did you tell?" Gandalf's voice had risen and Laurel assumed that this would have been the closest thing to screaming at one that the wizard would have ever done. Thorin approached the mass of assembled men slowly and said through gritted teeth, but with absolute conviction: "No one, I swear!" His nostrils flared, as he looked at his surroundings and then he glared at Gandalf and said: "What in Durin's name is going on?" "You're being hunted." Gandalf stated with solemnity and she could feel how everyone had stiffened at Gandalf's words._

_"I'll draw them off." She heard the creaky voice of Radagast call out. She furrowed her brow at the slightly dazed wizard's attempts to help them and she knew that eventhough he meant well, that he was completely disillusioned if he thought he could distract the Orcs, who were after them if Gandalf's word were anything to go by and whom she had known since her earliest stages of life were the most cruel and hateful creatures on Middle-Earth. "They are Gundabag Wargs. They will outrun you." Gandalf stated exasperatedly, voicing her inner thoughts. "These are roscabel rabbits. I'd like to see them try." Radagast had stated with a small mischievious smile._

And that is how Radagast the Brown had created a distraction and was now being pursued by Orcs, while the company had exploited that opportunity and had tried to escape from the Orcs that were chasing them and that were no doubt out for their blood. It had felt to Laurel, as if they had run throughout the length of the entire Middle-Earth, when truly they had only run through the vast, open range on a rocky terrain, which Laurel had treaded through with caution in fear of hurting her leg and being left behind. The company was now hid behind one of the mountainous rock formations and she was pressing herself tightly against the rock, in hopes of hiding herself better, in hopes of being absorbed by the rock. Especially, as she could hear the orcs on their wargs approaching them, their hiding place, having given up on the mad chase on the Wizard. She held her breath and strained her pointy ear, as she heard the warg's claws coming closer to them. She listened intently, almost masochistically to the sound, not wanting to be caught off guard, wanting to know when danger and their pursuer would be upon them.

She was stood between Bilbo and Thorin and out of the corner of her eyes, she saw how her cousin was white as a sheet, no doubt sharing her fear over their situation. He held his walking stick clutched in his hand, so tightly that Laurel could see that his knuckles had turned as white as him. She saw that Thorin was nodding at Kili on his other side, and how the latter proceeded to draw back an arrow and move forth into the Orc's viewing path. Kili shot down the warg before he could descend upon them and the great beast gave a deafening roar before it came tumbling down and lay on the ground still snarling and snapping its strong, ugly jaw. Its rider righted himself, before it attempted to attack the dwarves swinging its crude and unrefined, dark blade high. Yet he did not achieve what he set out to do, because as soon as the orc had risen he had been cut down by Dwalin, Bifur and Thorin.

She averted her eyes from the display, especially as she saw the creature's bloody face contort in agony. As she saw how its ugly visage contorted in pain and became impossibly more hideous and she cringed as she heard its high-pitched and pained shrieks, which's volume worried her, as it would no doubt alert the other orcs to their location. The sound of the orc's agonized shrieks coupled with the dull and squeamish sound of blades cutting flesh created a horrible melody, and she had to resist the urge to cover her ears. It was not that she felt pity toward the creature, she did not, because she knew that if the situations were reserved, that the orcs would be doing much worse to any of them. Still death was so ugly and this was the first time, she'd ever had to witness a creature dying. She had seen dead creatures before. She'd even witnessed others dying, namely her beloved aunt Bella, whose departure still pained her after a year had passed.

But she'd never had to witness such a brutal and painful death.

She'd seen dead creatures before, she'd seen how at the start of the spring season some of the Hobbit men would go into the forest and then emerge a few hours later, brimming with self-satisfaction and with the lifeless and limp carcasses of animals slung over their shoulder. She'd often seen the Hobbit men's spoils of the hunt, she'd often had to skin them and prepare them for eating. Yet she had never been forced to witness how these creatures died. How the life slowly seeped out of their eyes, leaving their pupils glassy. How their fingers still twitched long after the creature had stopped breathing. She'd never had to witness death, up until now.

Yet, she did not have time to focus and reflect on this, as Gandalf was urging them to move, because, as she had predicted, the other orcs had been made aware of their location due to their fallen ally's dying sounds and were now chasing them truly.

Her lungs were burning, as her short legs attempted to Keep up with the surprisingly agile dwarves. The landscape around her was a blur of yellowing green and drab grey and she could see the menacing and imposing silhouettes of the orcs and their wargs in the distance. She longed to escape them and she continued to run for an infinite amount of time.

Soon, however they came to a stop, and Laurel looked around her quickly. They were surrounded! Orcs to their east, Orcs to their west and Orcs in front of them. She swallowed heavily and drily and her grip of her sword tightened, yet she knew that it would do her no good, because she did not know how to use it. She had not been able to learn sufficient during the singular lesson the brothers had given to her yesterday. Not enough to escape from a confrontation with orcs alive, not to mention unscathed. "There are more coming!" she heard Kili's voice shouting in the distance and she prepared herself for the confrontation, for when the wargs would pounce upon her and she would be unable to defend herself and she knew that no help would come from the dwarves, because they would be no doubt busy protecting themselves.

"Over here, you fools!" She heard Gandalf's loud voice, coming from somewhere behind her and, as she looked over her shoulders, she saw the tall, willowy form of the wizard standing beside a rock formation. The company all ran toward the wizard, desperate to escape from the bloodshed that was no doubt to come and willing to accept anything to escape the fates that awaited at the hands of the orcs. She heard the wargs approaching their running forms, off in the distance and this only spurned her to move more quickly. She felt hope as she looked at the wizard and saw how the dwarves were slowly disappearing off into safety behind the rock formation.

Thorin Oakenshield was stood on the rock and was overlooking the distance, looking for his company and urging them down into the cave, wanting to ensure the presence of his kin before escaping himself. She would be one of the last ones to escape, because all the others had already sought protection in the cave.

"Kili!" she heard Thorin shout over her head and she immediately whirled around at the sound of her friend's name. Her eyes scowered the landscape for her friend's familiar form and she saw how he was busy shooting down the approaching wargs and keeping the orcs at bay. He was so busy aiming off into the distance, that he did not see the form of a riderless warg approach him from behind, with silent steps, and was oblivious to the menace that was slowly coming closer to him.

She did not want happened next or what on earth had possessed her to turn from her escape and from safety and propelled her legs to run toward Kili and toward certain danger. Yet she had not thought. She had not spent time to reflect that she would be willingly risking her life for a dwarf, who had become a friend to her only recently. She did not think, reflect on the fact that she did not know how to use her blade and would be useless in a fight. She did not pay mind to Thorin's alarmed exclamation of her name. She was consumed by fire that seemed spread through her blood and which propelled her toward her dwarven friend. Her heart was pounding in her ears and she did not feel any physical exhaustion, she did not feel out of breath, as she would have expected after running for so long. Unconsciously she perceived an alarmed cry of 'No' and from the pitch, she vaguely recognized it as her own.

But she gave mind to any of that, as she thrust her blade into the beast's side, just as it was raising its huge, sharp claw to cut down Kili.

At the sensation of a blade penetrating its flesh, the creature gave an alarmed and pained growl and immediately its Attention was drawn to her, as she retrieved her blade and stood before it shakingly. She looked into the creature's yellow, bloodshot eyes and its barred, bloody teeth and she took only a moment to note that it was the same warg that Kili had shot previously, when they had been crouched behind the boulder. But then the whizz of an arrow passed by her left ear and the creature crumpled dead to the ground with an arrow imbedded in its forehead. She looked at the dead warg numbly, and through the haze she felt Kili taking her hand and urging her to run, as the orcs were still numerously coming and chasing them.

She ran quickly, still with that euphoric sensation fueling her. She did not even perceive the sharp stab of pain she felt, as her ankle twisted, when she walked over one of the rocks that made this terrain so uneven. She continued running, even though she was now limping slightly. Yet she saw the rock formation where the dwarves had found their escape, where Thorin was still standing and urging them to move quicker.

She slid down the rock and immediately found safety in the cave. Then, she was holding herself up on shaky arms and she was resisting the urge to become nauseous in front of the dwarves. The invincible feeling that she had felt, as she had attempted to assist Kili was dissipating and giving way to all-encompassing, all-consuming dread and the realization of how foolishly she had put herself in danger and what the true extents would have been for her at the hands of that heinous warg, had Kili not shot it in that exact second. She still continued kneeling on the ground she had landed on and was incredulously looking at the ground below her, with a wide gaze. Her entire form was shaking and she wondered why she had not simply collapsed and how her arms were still finding strength to hold her up. She felt someone support her form and raise her up so that she now stood. Her legs felt as if they were made of rubber, and she summoned all of her power to not fall down again and resist the shaking of her knees.

She looked up as she saw Thorin approach her, visibly furious. He towered over her, but bent down so that he was closer to her face and hissed: "What were you thinking, you foolish, headstrong girl?" She looked down properly castigated and only felt the tremors that wreaked through her body become more forceful. Had she been in her old spirits, she would have not accepted Thorin's admonishment, especially when she had gone to save his nephew, while he had simply stood on the boulder, unmovingly. She would have told him that fiercely. Yet she could not, because she felt as if all life beside the dread she now felt had seeped out of her. So she kept silent and perceived him exhaling with exasperation. "We need to move on." she heard his guttural voice state to the assembled and she made to walk, but then a stinging pain originating from her ankle spread through her leg and she gritted her teeth instinctively, but it did not stop her from giving a low shriek of pain. "What is it?" She heard Thorin say beside her and she did not dare to look at him to see how he disapproved of everything she did with a passion and in a low whisper she said, ashamed: "My ankle. I think I twisted it."

She did not fail to hear his sigh of annoyance and expected him to curse her and leave her to the consequences of her unmeditated actions. Yet the next thing she knew was that he had scooped her slight form up into his arms. Her arms went instinctively around his neck, to prevent her from falling down and securing her balance. She looked at him incredulously, yet he kept his hard gaze forward and did not respond to her eyes, which he no doubt felt trained on his face. In acceptance, she closed her eyes and buried her face into his thick fur vest. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to shakily and audibly exhale, while keeping her face buried in the fur. She felt the warmth of his fur, enveloping her, and she felt comfort in his arms. She did not look up and simply allowed the dread she had felt during the orc chase to flow through her and then to dissipate. "Headstrong, foolhardy girl." she heard him mutter. She did not know if it was simply something she had imagined, but his words did no longer seem drenched with disapproval. His guttural, deep voice seemed softer, warmer and she allowed herself to be comforted by this fact- imaginary or not.

* * *

She did not look up for a long while, until she heard Gandalf's voice state: "The valley of Imlandris. The last homely house or as it is known in common tongue... Rivendell." She looked up and immediately she was met with a most fantastical sight. The sight of the place she had so longed to know. The sight of the place she had always read about in her childhood and that she had subsequently dreamed about. With awe she studied the high and sophisticated buildings, which twisted and were interspersed with lush green trees, which reached up high into the sky. The stone that constituted Rivendell seemed to shine golden in the late afternoon sun and she took in the sights of the ancient statues with reverent eyes. It was beautiful. It was the most beautiful sight she had ever seen and she envied that her mother had grown up in such a place. A place, which exuded refinement and noble tranquility and hospitality. She managed to wrench her eyes of the marmour facade of the building they were approaching and looked down at Bilbo, who seemed similarly amazed at what he was seeing.

Then she let her eyes course over the dwarves and her joy fell at seeing the wary and slightly contemptous gaze that had take residence on their faces, while they regarded the elven city. Stubborn dwarves! They did not allow themselves to relish in the beauty and the soothing tranquility of the place, only because it was of elven-make. It grieved her, because she was once more made aware that the dwarves would never accept her if they found out about her heritage and she knew that if her and Gandalf's deception was revealed that she would pull their ire and their prejudice-induced hatred upon her. Any previous friendly interactions would be disregarded in favour of their hatred toward her kin.

Thorin let her down and she now stood on a circular platform in front of a long, endless staircase and a man with long, ebony hair and ethereal features was descending the steps. He addressed and greeted Gandalf, who had requested to speak with a Lord Elrond, before conversing briefly with the elf who she had gathered was called Lindir. Lindir's face fell at GAndalf's request and he threw a quick look at the dwarves before he stated with solemnity: "My Lord Elrond is not here. "Where is he then?" Gandalf asked and in response to his question a high-pitched horn sounded off in the distance and this sound was followed by the pounding symphony of approaching horse hooves. In alarm, the dwarves formed a circle around her and Bilbo in an attempt to protect them, though she did not know what hazard the dwarves ecxpected in these tranquil surroundings. With their swords drawn and their faces contorted in a contemptous and disapproving expression, the dwarves eyed the approaching individuals, clad in a steel armour perched on high horses, who had proceeded to encircle the cluster of dwarves.

"My Lord Elrond. Mellon nin." Gandalf stated and did the same gestures of greeting that Lindir had bestowed upon him previously. "Gandalf." Her eyes were drawn to the imposing and noble-looking elf, who was looking at the wizard with a small, indulging smile. Her eyes widened at the dark-haired elf, because he simply exuded knowledge and refinement and she was almost in awe of him. He did not physically appear older than the elf that had greeted them, but his eyes were knowledgeable and spoke of his worldliness, that he was probably one of the wisest creatures in Middle Earth. She observed him, as he and Gandalf conversed in elvish and how Lord Elrond dismounted his horse and approached the wizard before embracing him. "Strange for orcs to come so close to our borders. Someone or something must have drawn them near." Lord Elrond stated impassively, while eyeing Gandalf in almost amused suspicion. "Ah, that would be us." Gandalf answered and for the first time, since he had arrived, Lord Elrond's eyes came to rest upon the company, who was still looking at him with distrust and wariness. Yet the close and almost asphyxiating cluster dissipated, as Thorin stepped closer to the elf Lord, almost reluctantly, as the former adressed the brooding dwarf: "Welcome Thorin. Son of Thrain." "I do not believe we have met." "You have your grandfather's bearing. I knew Thror, when he ruled under the mountain." Lord Elrond answered to Thorin's questioning statement. "Indeed", the dwarven king said with self-assuredness "He made no mention of you." Laurel huffed and rolled her eyes at Thorin's lack of courtesy toward the man, who would no doubt be their host for tonight. For his lack of manners: insulting the man, who undoubtedly offer them shelter and accomodations.

Yet Lord Elrond refused to appear offended and continued to gaze upon Thorin with impasiveness. Then his gaze shifted and his eyes came to rest upon her. He studied her for a few long seconds and then his right eyebrow raised in something akin to surprise and the corner of his lips twitched up into a small, delighted smile.

Yet Laurel could not reciprocate, she felt only dread, because she had gathered that he had recognized her. This was her mother's native land, there was a huge likelihood that Lord Elrond and Elauriel were acquainted and if not, she was absolutely certain that this wise man had perceived that she was part elvish. She lowered her gaze, because she knew and dreaded what was to come now. Lord Elrond would unknowingly reveal her and Gandalf's deception and she anticipated the dwarves' ire. "I see you have a wounded." She looked upon the elf-lord, who was still smiling at her and she suspired silently in relief, He would not reveal her heritage now and she made to approach the elven lord, who was silently beckoning her.

Then she felt Thorin's calloused Hands on her forearm, as a constraint, holding her in place and preventing her from continuing on her trajectory to Lord Elrond. "What do you want with the girl?", he spat and eyed the elven lord with distaste. "I simply wish to look at her ankle. I am a healer. Allow me to escort her to our healing hall, where she shall be looked after. If that would be agreeable?" The last part he had said addressing her and she had bowed her head in acquiescent gratitude, yet Thorin's grasp did not lessen on her arm. She shifted her head toward the brooding dwarven king and he reciprocated her gaze when he felt hers upon him, when she lay her hand atop his that held her arm. She smiled tightly, slightly impatiently, at him and said with anemity: "It's alright Thorin." She then gently grasped his hand and moved it off her arm, before she approached the elven lord. He looked down at her and then he raised his head and said something in elvish to the dwarves and she had to bow her head to hide her smile of amusement at Lord Elrond's retribution and his teasing of the dwarves by addressing them in a language foreign to them. "Does he offer us offense?" she heard Gloin's outraged voice behind her and then Gandalf's voice stated with exasperation: "No, Master Gloin he's offering you accomodations and food." She heard the muttering of the dwarves, as they seemed to consider the elf lord's offer, before Gloin said: "Well, in that case... Lead on." She shook her head fondly at the dwarves' antics. Lord Elrond addressed the elf Lindir once more, no doubt ordering him to show the dwarves' their accomodation, before she moved off with Lord Elrond in the direction of the healing halls.

* * *

She had her head bowed as Lord Elrond looked at her swollen ankle and was spreading some ointment upon the wound. She exhaled as she felt the cool texture of the remedy, which soothed and cooled her throbbing ankle. She kept her head bowed, even as she felt Lord Elrond's gaze periodically shift on her. Though she knew that he wished to address her on the matter of her heritage, but would only do so if prompted by her. This caused a heavy and tense silence to descend upon them and she furrowed her brow in discomfort. She did not wish to talk to Lord Elrond about her mother, lest she be exposed as a a deceiver in front of this respect-inducing man. She did not want this to be his opinion of her, yet she could no longer endure the heavy silence that weighed her down and chose to say noncommitally: "Thank you." She raised her gaze and saw that the elf-lord was studying her impassively, before she bowed her head once more and let her curls curtain her face: "Thank you for the hospitality you have shown toward us. I do not believe you have received the due gratitude for your offer of accomodation. So allow me to thank you for letting us stay in beautiful Rivendell. It is truly an honour." She heard him chuckle lowly before he responded: "Anything for Elauriel's daughter." Her gaze snapped up and she saw how his smile widened at her disbelief. "Your mother would have never forgiven me if I treated her daughter poorly." Sensing her silent question, he said: "I knew your mother. She was an old friend." She smiled bitterly and once more lowered her head before saying: "You knew her better than me. She died when I was very young." "I know. She came to Rivendell before she faded. The loss of my friend grieved me greatly." She felt his hands grasp her chin and raise her head, so he could look at her intently: "Do not judge your mother so gravely. I know her abandonment must seem incomprehensible to you. Yet she loved your father greatly." She furrowed her brows upon hearing his words and felt no consolement from them. "Perhaps you shall come to understand as time and your journey progresses." Lord Elornd stated ominously and Laurel colud not help, but regard this as a warning, as a prediction of what was yet to come for her.

He rose before she could question his words and said: "Your ankle should be healed in the morning. If you wish to join the rest of the company for dinner, simply ask one of the elves and they shall lead you to where we are gathered." She expected him to depart then, but he continued looking upon here, before from one of the pockets in his tunic, he brought forth a leather string upon which a green crystal hung. "Your mother asked me to give this to you, should we meet. It is a dream oracle. Elauriel came into its possession sometime during her century on Middle Earth, yet she never had dreams of fore- and neither hindsight. I believe it belongs to you." He handed her the necklace with a small, knowing smile and she was immediately awed by the green crystal, which was formed like a dew drop and which reflected the late-afternoon light filtering through the windows of the hall. "A dress has been laid out for you, if you wish to join us. I believe it is one of your mother's when she was still an infant." She looked up at the elf-lord and watched his retreating back, before she put the leather cord around her neck and contemplatively looked down at the crystal, which she twirled through her fingers.


	17. Light No Longer walks the sky

Chapter 16

_"Pity me not because the light of day_ _a_ _t the close of day no longer walks the sky; Pity me not for beauties passed away from field to thicket as the year goes by; Pity me not the waning moon, nor that the ebbing tide goes out to sea, nor that a man's desire is hushed so soon,_ _a_ _nd you no longer look with love on me."- Sonnet 29, Edna St. Vincent Millay_

For the first time in what seemed to be a long time interval, Bilbo felt safe and content, as he sat beside Balin and ate the green food the elves had offered them. It felt surreal that he was truly in Rivendell.

Rivendell, the city he had always read about in his books and the one he had consequently dreamt of one day visiting. The city that had been described as ethereally beautiful and which's description had endeared the elvish race to a younger fauntling Bilbo and had caused him to search for individuals of the afore mentioned race, alongside his cousin in the woods around Bag End. Yet all the descriptions he had read about this city had been nullified when he had stood on the rocky cliff and in the horizon he had seen this glowing settlement. Nothing could have prepared him for the sky-high, elaborate constructions, which seemed to glow golden in the late afternoon, setting sun. Nothing had prepared him for the aura of majesticness and sophistication that had enveloped him when he had first arrived and that spoke of a certain mystical element. He had been amazed, but at the same time he had feel comforted and welcome. He had felt that this place would accept anyone into its beautiful halls. He should have rued leaving it so soon, because he had heard Thorin grumble that they would not accept the hospitality of elves for too long, yet he had felt a sort of premonition, when he had gazed around him and had looked up at the imposing statues, and it seemed to say that this would not be his last visit to Rivendell.

And the elves... the elves were just as he had imagined them. Majestic, ethereal creatures, whose beauty was almost too fierce to behold, let alone to imagine, to describe. Creatures, which seemed to exude knowledge and wisdom. Creatures, which had been so welcoming to him and the rest of the company, that he had been unable to, for even a fraction of a second, think ill of them. He was content that this evening they would not spend the night on the road, that he would not have to snuggle up to his cousin and be fearful that he would almost smother her slight form, because he longed for her warmth as he tried to fight off the chill of the late summer's night. He was content that he would be able to sleep fully and that he would not constantly wake, intently listening for the howls of Wargs, which he had done, since the brothers' words about Orcs and their raids on camps. He felt content that he would sleep on a soft and feathery bed, instead of on the cold, rocky ground, an arrangement that his back was already protesting about intensely. He was happy.

Yet the same could unfortunately not be said about every individual of Thorin Oakenshield's company. Indeed the dwarves seemed to be rather on edge since their arrival in the elvish settlement. He saw the disgruntlement of the dwarves during dinner and towards the elves. He saw how they were discontent at eating green food and how they longed for meat. He could not help, but smile a small, vindictive smile at that. Even though he had started to become less wary towards the dwarves and had even started to care for a select few, such as Balin and Bofur, he had still not forgotten their unexpected intrusion into Bag End, the chaos they had created and how they had raided his pantry. So, he did feel slight contentment because the dwarves seemed so uncomfortable and out of sorts, just how he had felt during the night of the council in Bag End.

Yet he also felt worry, because anyone could easily see the dwarves' animosity toward the elves. One could easily see that Thorin and his dwarves despised elves, especially when they had looked at Lord Elrond with so much wary suspicion and had not even properly thanked the elven lord for the hospitality he had offered them. You could easily see the animosity of the dwarves as they sat at the tables and eyed their beautiful, idyllic surroundings with distaste and contempt and seemed rather annoyed by the bucolic tunes the elves were playing on their instruments. It was easy to see Thorin Oakenshield's hatred toward elves, as he eyed Lord Elrond with a barely concealed sneer and with resentment. The dwarven king was naturally an angry man, but tonight the air around him seemed to vibrate with the contempt he radiated towards their hosts.

It was this animosity that worried Bilbo, because it could prove dismeritious for his cousin. He felt that his cousin had so easily integrated in the company. That her kind spirit had caused most of the dwarves to abandon their wariness toward her. She had befriended Bifur and the Brothers, and she could often be seen with them. And Bilbo had been happy for her, because for so long it had only been the two of them and while that had been bliss, because he could never have wished for a better or truer friend than Laurel, he was glad that she was befriending others, and that she seemed happy. Yes, Laurel Arya Took, his dear cousin, seemed happy on this journey. And while he was still reluctant in face of the danger they had already faced and were bound to still face, he was glad that she had dispelled all her worries and she was content in the quest.

Yet Bilbo feared that would be bound to change if the company discovered of her heritage. The dwarves were awfully stubborn, and Bilbo worried that they would forget any previous friendly interactions with Laurel, in favor of their prejudice. That their hatred towards elves would make them condemn her. That it would cause Bifur, Fili and Kili to grow contemptuous toward her, especially if their king motivated such a feeling. He knew that this would hurt her, because she had grown fond of them and if they were to forsake their friendship in favor of their preconceived ideas, when she had so often been abandoned already, it would hurt her. He could clearly recall, when he had sat with Gandalf and Laurel during the midday break on their first day in Thorin Oakenshield's company, a little distance from the assembly of thirteen dwarves and the elderly wizard had intently admonished him to keep Laurel's origins concealed. He had at first been highly confused by the wizard's demands, but had acquiesced, albeit reluctantly when his cousin had confirmed the wizard's wishes. Then when he had overheard Gloin and Dwalin's cruel and contemptuous discussions about elves, he had become convinced, that it was truly best if none of the dwarves ever found out that his cousin's mother had been an elf. He had been convinced when he had seen that every dwarf seemed to share a common hatred for the members of that race.

He feared what awaited his cousin if she were found out. He feared that the initial wariness of the dwarves would morph to ill will and perhaps even hostility. Especially on side of Thorin Oakenshield, who seemed to hate elves with the same passion he hated Orcs. Bilbo had after all witnessed Thorin's disgruntlement at their arrival and presence in Rivendell. He had seen the unveiled contempt Thorin had demonstrated toward Lord Elrond and any elves that would dare to come in his vicinity.

Thorin Oakenshield was such an angry, catankerous man. Ever since he had arrived in Bag End, Bilbo had been able to clearly make out the grudging and bitter nature of the older dwarf, in the way his eyes were stormy and dark with resentment at the fate that had befallen him. Bilbo could see Thorin's anger in his purposeful, heavy stride, in the way the dwarven king held himself in a proud and unrelenting posture, yet how, if studied intently, one could still see a slumping to his shoulders, that spoke of an invisible weight the dark-haired dwarf had to carry. All dwarves had shown a joviality, even Dwalin who intimidated Bilbo greatly with his battle-hardened appearance. Yet Thorin had been the only one that had remained callous, indifferent, aloof. Even when the company gathered around the camp fire at night and Bilbo was unable to hide his mirth at their antics, their story telling and their jovial singing, their only sources of divertment on this quest, which Bilbo had gathered was so important to them; even when all were amused, Thorin remained... unhappy. It would be difficult to name a time, when Bilbo had seen Thorin not being angry, when he had seen the invulnerable dwarf king more at ease.

He had occasionally discussed their leader with his cousin, and he had shared his findings with her and she had confirmed that she thought the same. Yet while Bilbo was close to indifferent to their leader's demeanor, he could not help but notice, that whenever him and Laurel discussed the almost imperceptible slumping to Thorin's shoulders, she would conspicuously glance at their leader and she would look at him, with an emotion he could only categorize as sadness. Had he been any other person, he would not have glimpsed, but he had spent more than two decades with this girl and he knew her, perhaps even better than she knew herself and while she would never admit it, he knew that his cousin was all but indifferent to the brooding dwarven king.

Laurel... Bilbo did not know what Thorin made of Laurel. At times there was clear resentment in his gaze directed at her. Especially, when she was in the company of his nephews and their attraction was so blindingly clear by their lingering touches and the blatant affection in their eyes aimed toward the red haired girl. The dwarven king no doubt resented her, because she was providing his nephews with a distraction on this quest that was of insurmountable importance to Thorin. Bilbo had seen the way Thorin had glanced at them during their sword fighting lessons and his gaze had been so ripe with disapproval at their lack of prowess with the weapons, that Bilbo had grown self-conscious and did not long for another lesson of those.

There was no question to him that Thorin disapproved of Laurel and of him, because of the fact that they were hobbits. But while Thorin Oakenshield simply chose to disregard Bilbo, he was more attentive to her, because she was the only one who did not seem to revere him or be intimidated by him and his station. She was not scared to call him out and admonish him, when she disapproved of something he did. And Bilbo knew that this would only cause his dislike of her to strengthen.

But when Thorin looked at her... and he did look at her periodically. It was almost as if he was trying to understand something about her. Bilbo did not believe that it had anything to do with her heritage, if Thorin believed for one second that she could have any elvish blood in her, he would've already shunned and expelled her, of that he was sure.

No, when Thorin looked at Laurel... it was as if he was trying to understand something, like she confused him greatly and he wanted... needed... to understand why she had this effect.

And every so often Bilbo would see Thorin gazing upon his cousin no longer with his stormy, angry gaze, but with an emotion much softer, more tender, and this in turn confused Bilbo and made him highly uncomfortable, so that he had to avert his eyes from the dwarven king, as he observed Laurel laugh at one of the brothers' jokes indulgently.

Those were the only instances that Bilbo would not categorize Thorin as angry and resentful.

And neither could he now, as he saw Thorin Oakenshield look up from his conversation with Lord Elrond, because the latter and Gandalf were looking toward the terrace entrance with small welcoming smiles. He saw how Thorin's eyes widened for a fraction of a second and that his look of incredulity was replaced with one of... intense attraction. And Bilbo started at that and immediately he looked toward the source of this emotion and he was met with the sight of Laurel, as she quickly came towards the empty seat on his right. She was still limping slightly, but the attention to her ankle was deflected by her appearance. She was wearing a gown of silvery-grey fabric, with short, flowing sleeves. She looked clean and was no longer grimy and dusty from the roads they had traveled and her long hair was open and flowed down her back. The vibrant red of her hair stood out against the light fabric of the gown.

Diametrically opposed.

Completely contrasting in a way that was queer, yet ethereal.

She came to sit beside him and gave him a silent smile of greeting and proceeded to eat the food that was put before her with sereneness. And he looked up to have his eyes drawn to the dwarf king, to see had returned his attention to Lord Elrond, who was eyeing the sword that they had found in the trolls' cave. Yet for the rest of the evening Bilbo could not forget the image of Thorin Oakenshield looking at his cousin with longing in his eyes.

* * *

"Our business is no concern of elves." He watched Thorin Oakenshield, as he stood proudly before him with an unrelenting expression on his face, while his scribe Balin, who pacing nervously by his side. He could see that his old friend Gandalf was growing exasperate at the exiled king's perseverance in not accepting elven help on the matter of a map: "For Goodness' sakes Thorin, just show him the map."

Thorin, Balin, Gandalf and him had left after the feast, when Gandalf had stated that he required of Lord Elrond's assistance in a matter of the company of dwaves. Yet, it seemed that only Gandalf believed this necessary, as Thorin self-assuredly stated: "It is the legacy of my people. It is mine to protect. As are its secrets." Lord Elrond knew of the grudge Thorin harbored against elves, his inbred prejudice against Lord Elrond's race which had been passed down to him by his grandfather and father, and which had only been strengthened when King Thandruil had refused help during Erebor's fall.

"Save me from the stubbornness of dwarves.", Gandalf said in a disbelieving tone and clutched his walking stick more tightly, in an unconscious gesture of maintaining his composure against this dwarven king that vexed him. "Your pride will be your downfall." Gandalf stated ominously, warningly, and Elrond saw how Thorin Oakenshield raised his head further at the wizard's words, unwilling to accept any form of criticism. "You stand here in the presence of one of the few people in Middle Earth, who can read that map. Show it to Lord Elrond!"

As Lord Elrond looked at the proud dwarf expectantly, he saw that Thorin Oakenshield had momentarily pursed his lips, before retrieving the map from his armor and stepping slowly, almost reluctantly towards him. The scribe's eyes widened and he made to grab at Thorin and disapprovingly exclaimed: "Thorin, no!" But the dwarven king was not deterred and held out a placating hand, stopping his inferior's actions before moving towards him, looking at him darkly and handing him the map.

He grasped the faded and rough parchment, opening the folded map. He tried to contain his surprise, as he saw the illustrations of the map that clearly depicted the exiled king's old halls. "Erebor?", he asked with surprise and slight suspicion coloring his tone. He did not know what the dwarves' intent with a map of the current seat of Smaug was, but he had a growing suspicion and if he was proven right, he knew that King Thorin's undertakings were most perilous to all of Middle Earth. "What is your interest with this map?", he asked pointedly, looking at the brooding dwarf before him.

He saw Thorin open his mouth to respond, yet he was interrupted from saying a word to Lord Elrond by Gandalf's smoky voice stating: "It is mainly academic. As you know those sort of artifacts sometimes contain hidden text." He looked at Gandaf from the corner of his eyes, willing him to be honest, but seeing no change to the wizard's demeanor, he accepted the explanation and turned from the assembled men, to miss the grateful and relieved look that Thorin gave Gandalf.

He continued studying the map, now bathed in the silvery light of the moon, as it filtered through the archway from the balcony into his old library. "You still read ancient dwarfish?", he heard Gandalf ask behind him, but he did not answer his statement, as he became aware of the secrets of the map and raised the map further into the moonbeams, willing to prove his assumptions correct. "Moon runes.", he stated loudly to inform the others of his findings. "Of course, an easy thing to miss.", Gandalf said in response.

"It's true. Moon runes can only be read in the light of a moon of the same shape and the same season, as the one they were written in.", he said explanatory. He ascended the stair, willing the others to follow him and he stepped out into the balcony and toward the ledge, where a platform was located, which was bathed in the light of the moon and would be suitable to read the map on.

"The runes were written on a midsummer's eve in the light of a christened moon, nearly two hundred years ago. It seems you were meant to come to Rivendell. Fate is with you, Thorin Oakenshield. The same moon shines on us tonight.", Lord Elrond stated with positioning himself and the map.

As the light of the moon shone on the map, the runes started to glow silvery-blue on the right-hand corner of the map. He proceeded to translate in a loud voice: "Stand by the grey stone, when the thrush knocks and the setting sun with the last light of Durin's day with shine upon the keyhole."

"This is ill news. Summer is passing. Durin's day will soon be upon us.", Thorin stated alarmed. "We still have time. We still have time to find the entrance. We only have to stand at the right place, at the right time, only then can the door be opened.", Balin stated in a placating and assured voice, revealing to him what the true intent for this company was.

"So this is your purpose. To enter the mountain.", he stated grudgingly and worriedly. It was as he had feared. "What of it?", Thorin said with distaste and he answered, handing the map back to the dwarf: "There are some who would not deem it wise." If Thorin Oakenshield opened the door to Erebor, he would be releasing Smaug. Releasing the gravest calamity of this age, who would once more wreak havoc on Middle Earth. A danger, which had been subdued, after the dragon had settled in Erebor and its vast treasure halls.

And as Lord Elrond thought of the dragon Smaug that this company was going to meet head-on, he remembered a vision that had hit him a few days back. The vision of red hair that had become caked with blood. The vision of cornflower-blue eyes looking up at the sky vacantly with all the life sucked out of them. Blood that colored the light brown earth a rusty, foul shade. And Lord Elrond knew that this quest could be her downfall. That this vision of death and despair could indeed come true, was bound to come true if Laurel and those surrounding her continued on this path. And he wondered if he could allow it. If he could allow his friend's daughter to leave Rivendell, knowing that her most likely fate was fatal. Yet he had also seen her joy, her joy at the adventure she was experiencing and he had seen how she cared for the dwarves. She had been annoyed when they had shown a lack of courtesy to him, yet he could still see that she was fond of them. And if she was anything like her mother, which he suspected she was because it was without a doubt that he could say that she was Elauriel's daughter, she would be infuriatingly stubborn and decisive.

She would not be stopped. Knowing this, he suspired and turned toward the invulnerable dwarven king and he said: "Do take care of Laurel Arya Took, Thorin Oakenshield. I would be much obliged if my friend's daughter would be under your care."

At seeing Thorin Oakenshield's confused look, he added: "Her mother was from Rivendell. Elauriel was a very dear friend to me." Still Thorin Oakenshield regarded him with confusion and slight incredulity for a few long seconds, before Elrond saw understanding dawning on his features. Consequently, they contorted with rage and betrayal that was so fierce that Elrond himself had to resist the urge of starting.

"She is an elf?", he heard Thorin whisper so lowly, that he would not have heard it, if he did not possess elvish hearing and he doubted that Thorin had meant for anyone to overhear his whispering. Thorin turned to Gandalf and now all Lord Elrond could see on the dwarves' features was unbridled wrath. The wizard, in turn, was looking alarmed and was looking slightly sheepish at the fuming dwarven king.

"This was your doing!", Thorin Oakenshield snarled at the wizard before him and he proceeded to storm out of the room with his scribe following him, flustered by his leader's sudden change of mood.

* * *

Her evening had been uncommonly calm. After Thorin and Balin had gone off with Lord Elrond and Gandalf, thus ending the evening feast, her, Bilbo and the remaining dwarves had assembled in a chamber in Rivendell and had proceeded to spend the evening, as they had since their ride to Erebor had begun- in song and cheer. They had assembled and had started a fire, which was fueled- much to her chagrin- by the elves' wooden furniture. She had tried to prevent the burning of these ornate objects, yet Bofur had only winked mischievously at her and her protesting and had told her in his accented voice 'They won't miss it!' Initially, she had looked at the dwarves and at their joviality at destroying the furniture of their hosts, darkly, until she had been distracted by the Bofur's jovial ballad, describing a beautiful, bearded dwarven beauty. She had then procceded to enjoy her evening in the dwarven company, as they roasted meat over the fire-something they had complained that had been sorely missing- and as she listened to Dwalin's battle tales or Gloin's description of his wife and young child, who were awaiting him back in the Blue Mountain.

She had enjoyed herself and even regaled the company with a tale of her own when she had been requested to do so by Fili. And it had been met with much amusement and her cousin's chagrin, as she had described how, once upon a time in her fifteenth summer on Middle-Earth, she had convinced Bilbo to burgle one of Lobelia's prized roses with her and had proceeded to run away when the incensed she-hobbit had emerged from her home, leaving Bilbo to take all the blame. She had finished her tale by smiling slyly at her cousin and saying: "And then you say we have never stolen a thing in our lives." "There is a difference between stealing from Lobelia Sackville-Baggins and stealing from a dragon.", her cousin had said, while rolling his eyes good-naturedly and nudging her shoulders with his. "Really?", she had asked and cocked her head in confusion "I don't see it."

The evening had been pleasant and idyllic- almost disconcertingly so.

But then, she heard heavy, pounding footsteps nearing the chamber they were located in. Had she not been convinced that elves were entirely incapable of making such a loud sound, she would have assumed that one of the servants had discovered the dwarves' prank and had come to admonish them. But she was sure that it was no elf, who was storming toward them, making a sonorous melody with their steps, only characteristic of someone consumed with wrath and she was left questioning, who it could be.

Her question was answered when Thorin Oakenshield entered the chamber and he appeared to be vibrating in silent, suppressed wrath, which was longing to be released. His eyes were dark and resembled what Laurel thought a storming sea to look like, grey and brimming with anger. His lips were in a thin line, as if he was trying to physically hold in the tirade that was almost bursting out of him. At first, Laurel thought that whatever the discussion between Lord Elrond and Thorin, its contents had angered the dwaven king. That thought was quickly dispelled, when his eyes came to rest upon her form and he seemed to become even more angry, if that was possible, so that he seemed to radiate this contemptuous feeling and it had her reeling.

Before she could ponder further on his anger, he strode toward her and raised her up by packing her arms in a vice-like grip and yanking her to her feet. The actions were sudden unexpected and forceful, that she stumbled into him. She quickly pushed herself off his form and proceeded to fight his grip, which only tightened as he perceived her struggling. She winced silently, as his fingers dug into her arms painfully and she knew that it would bruise her.

She could not help the fear that arose within her, especially remembering the intensity of his anger. She had always perceived Thorin as a callous, even cold man, but who always had retained his composure, only demonstrating his anger, in severe cases, but otherwise remained aloof. So to see him this discomposed and fiery was disconcerting. She could not even muster up any anger at his handling of her, so surprised was she.

"You deceiving little wench." he hissed at her, as he held her gripped by the forearms. She would have noted their proximity, how their noses were almost touching and he was growling at her, but she did not take notice of that. She did not notice how, his glowering at her slowly morphed into something different, as he took notice of their proximity, which was equally as dark and fiery as his wrath had been. She took no note of how his eyes flickered to her slightly parted lips, before he pushed her away from him, repulsed, and she fell to the floor.

She looked down at the floor, only faintly noticing the throbbing of her still-injured ankle and her knees. She was consumed by her confusion and her pain at his cruelty toward her. She screwed her eyes shut, as the sound of Bilbo and the brothers calling her and Thorin's name respectively was drowned out by the sound of her blood rushing in her ears and the sound of his heavy breathing, signalizing his continued anger. She could feel his heavy gaze on her back, as he said, in response to the sound of Bilbo, Fili and Kili moving to assist her in rising, fearing she was uncapable to do so.

"Don't!", she heard his deep, angry voice warn them lowly, menacingly "Don't! The place for elvish filth is on the floor."

Her growing anger was momentarily dulled by her pain at his discovery. He had found out. Somehow he had found out that which she had always tried to guard so intensely. Unconsciously, she perceived that Balin was explaining what Lord Elrond had revealed to them, in response to Kili's confused questioning. She knew that the dwarves would be looking at her with anger and most likely with contempt, so she kept her gaze on the marble floor beneath her, unwilling to raise her eyes.

"She was always lying to us. The underhanded whelp." she once more heard Thorin, as he insulted her through gritted teeth. He hated her. The pain of this realization left her momentarily breathless. She had never thought that his opinion of her would have mattered to her so greatly that his distaste for her would have been... crushing. She felt an unbidden burning in her eyes and she screwed her eyes shut, trying to surpress that which she could not do. She would not give him this satisfaction, the satisfaction of seeing her cry, her pride prevented her from doing so.

"How could you deceive me so?", she heard him whisper and it sounded almost pained and was so lowly stated, that she doubted he had wanted anyone to heard, but she... her elven hearing grasped it. This statement, compared to the ones previously was harmless, but somehow it had offended her more than the others and she could no longer bear to remain quiescent, complacent.

She turned around and supported herself on both her arms and glared up at him, tigerishly before stating: "You are a hypocrite, Thorin Oakenshield!" It was certainly unwise of her to confront him, especially as his anger at her was still palpable, but she had always been foolish and unheeding of danger, when her fierceness and her determination took a hold of her. She did not look directly into his eyes, those icy-blue eyes that at times appeared grey, which were so cold, but in which she had seen vulnerability; she knew that her courage would leave her if she only saw how palpable his hatred for her was, if those eyes looked at her with contempt.

He did not answer her statement and if she had not declared it loudly, she would have doubted he had heard it, but she was undeterred and continued: "You claim your hatred at elves is due to the lack of assistance they provided you, when Erebor was taken. Yet when they offer you help, when they want to help you... you mistreat them, are cruel to them." She gathered her courage and looked up into his eyes to strengthen her words. She met his cold, angry glare, and continued to gaze at him until he averted his eyes, as if he could not bear to continue looking at her. Panic rose within her, as he looked to the side, his nostrils flaring in rage, panic at thinking he had already discarded her.

Her voice softened, as she said: "You wish to know why I omitted my mother's origins? You would never have accepted me, if you knew. I want to help you go back home and you would have never given me the chance, if you knew." "It was never your place to be!", Thorin stated loudly.

She looked down, no longer willing to confront him with her gaze. "It's still me.", Laurel said lowly only wanting him to hear her words. "It's still me. I have never lied to you about my loyalty to this quest, about my regard for this company." She let her eyes wander from the circular design on the marble floor beneath her hand to his face and she confessed with an honesty and a vulnerability she knew not she possessed: "I have never lied to you about my loyalty... my regard for you."

She wondered if it had been real or if her frenzied mind only imagined the stiffening of his shoulders, as she whispered those words with an emotion so raw. Yet he did not look at her and he was still furious. Defeat took a hold of her, as he stated quietly, being almost disconcertingly calm, especially after having been so fueled with anger: "You will not move on with this company. You will remain in Rivendell with your kin." The last word he had spat, as if it was something poisonous leaving his mouth. He turned from her completely and the actions seemed so final, that she felt panicked and could not help but plead quietly: "Thorin, please!" She did not know what she asked of him, or what the connotations behind her plea had been.

It did not matter. He disregarded her. He disregarded her, as he heard her plea. He disregarded her, as he turned away from her and strode away with a finality to his actions that pained her. He disregarded her, as he exited the chamber and left... left her.

Her shoulders slumped, and as she exhaled, she could not prevent the tears that she had valiantly surpressed, held in, escaping. Her cheeks grew warm with shame and self-deprecation, as she felt the drop of moisture running its valley down her cheek and she lowered her head and wiped at her cheek, in a futile attempt to veil her tears from the dwarves, who had grown deadly silent after her and Thorin's confrontation.

She did not how long she sat there, silently crying, until she felt herself being seized by comforting arms and she moved under that support out of the chamber and toward the one that had been assigned to her during her stay. She recognized the embrace from two decades she had frequently sought it out, those arms which had embraced her so often now and that form, which was familiar to her and always would be. She felt Bilbo lay her down on the downy bed and as he had done so often during their time together, when he knew that she needed to be comforted or when he himself sought the comfort of his best friend, he lay down beside her and put his arm around her. She turned to her side, unwilling to face him and let him see her tears, somehow ashamed, even after he had seen her tears so many times, when she had still struggled with her mother's abandonment of her, when she had scraped her knees, when the teasing of the other hobbit children had been too much for her.

"It was him." she whispered into the darkness of the room, knowing that Bilbo would hear her. "The man in my dreams... it was Thorin." She did not know what had caused her to tell him, perhaps it was because she had always told her cousin everything, because he was her confidant. Perhaps she wanted... needed to get the weight of this fact off her, because it was crushing her: the realization that the man, who had been her hero in her childhood despised her. She felt Bilbo's arms around her tighten, in response to her words.

And that was when she started to sob.

When she realized that her cousin's embrace no longer brought her the same degree of comfort it once had.

When she realized that it was another's arms she longed to be in.


	18. Courage and Hope

„ _It matters not how strait the gate, how charged with punishments the scroll. I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul." Invictus- William Ernest Henley_

„Tell me, Gandalf... Did you think these plans and schemes of yours would go unnoticed?", asked Saruman, as he confronted the grey wizard.

The two wizards were sat opposite each other, on an oval table, and while Saruman sat fully erect on his chair and almost seemed to glare down the weathered wizard of his order, the latter, in turn, had his head buried in his hands in exasperation at his superior's questioning. The two elves, Lady Galadriel and Lord Elrond, stood in the chamber and circled the two wizards, as they conversed.

The guardians of Middle Earth had been called to the Valley of Imlandris to discuss the fate of Middle Earth, now that the threat of the dragon Smaug was once more rampant, due to Thorin Oakenshield's quest.

In the Shire, the merchants were currently on their wooden wagons transporting their fresh ware of fruits and vegetable to the market of Hobbiton, where, later, the hobbit women would purchase them. In Gondor, the young children were still buried deep under the blankets, their lashes weighed down by sleep's weight, until they would rise and dispell the incantation and proceed with their daily routine. The bakers were warming their ovens. The bladesmiths were polishing their hammers. The fishermen were laying their nets out to go to sea. For all the inhabitants of Middle earth, the day had started as any other would. Little did they know that on an elevated, lofty platform in the elven settlement of Rivendell, the White Council was currently discussing their fates.

„No, I'm simply doing what I think is right.", Gandalf tried to justify his actions and his allegiance to the dwarves' quest.

„The dragon has long been on your mind.", declared Galadriel, the Lady of Lorien in a sonorous, melodic voice. She slowly turned to Gandalf, as she addressed him, the wind played with the golden strands of her hair and her white, flowing gown billowing behind her. She looked at the grey wizard with her silvery gaze and Gandalf straightened in near reverence, as the Lady Galadriel addressed him.

„It is true, my lady.", Gandalf stated gravely with a nod, before shifting his body slightly and once more laying his attentions on Saruman. „Smaug owes allegiance to no one. But if he should side with the enemy the dragon could be used to terrible effect." It was not possible to oversee the alarm that coated Saruman's weathered, yet aquiline features at Gandalf's words. How his eyes had widened and his strong brows had risen in response to what Gandalf said to him. „What enemy?" he wanted to know, wishing to know of any existing or forecoming threat on Middle Earth. "Gandalf, the enemy is defeated. Sauron is vanquished. He can never again regain his full strength.", Saruman declared, no small amount of pride coating his words as he remembered Sauron's downfall and their victory over the Dark Lord of Morgor.

"Gandalf, for four hundred years we have lived in peace. A hard-won, watchful peace.", the Lord Elrond said for the first time during this assembly, supporting Saruman's words, wishing to dissuade his friend off the dwarves' quest, which he believed would only destroy this peace that had been so hard achieved, that'd had such a great adversary in the Dark Power.

"Are we? Are we at peace?", Gandalf asked slightly outraged and glared at the two men. "Trolls have come down from the mountain. They are raiding villages and destroying farms. Orcs have attacked us on the road." The Lord Elrond moved slowly, but purposefully toward the oval table in the centre of the chamber and his gait contained a grace that was almost intimidating when regarded. "Hardly a prelude to war.", the elven lord addressed his friend. "Always you must meddle, looking for trouble were none exists.", Saruman accused the wizard before him with disapproval.

"Let him speak.", Lady Galdariel's voice broke the tension between the men and immediately all straightened at the elf's voice. She moved about the room, looking off into the distance, yet from the wisdom in her eyes it was easy to see that she was attuned to all discussion between the other three members of the council. An aura of etherealness radiated from her as she moved.

"There is something at work beyond even of Smaug. Something far more powerful. We may remain blind to it, but it will not be ignoring us. That I can assure you.", Gandalf stated ominously "A sickness lies over Greenwood. The woodsmen who live there now call it Mirkwood. They say...", his words failed him, as he struggled to find a way to phrase his continued explanation in a convincing manner.

Saruman cocked his left eyebrow and his lips lifted a fraction of an inch into a small, sarcastic smirk before he said: "Well, do not let us stop you now. What do they say?" "They speak of a necromancer who lives in Dol Guldur. A sorcerer who can summon the dead."

Saruman remained impassive at Gandalf's word, save for the glint in his pale blue eyes before he said in complete dismissal: "That's absurd. No such power exists in this world." Gandalf leaned in closer to his superior and observed him, as he became increasingly flustered and said with a nervous hand gesture: "This... necromancer is nothing more than a mortal man. A conjurer dabbling in dark magic."

Saruman then averted his gaze to the left, thus deeming the discussion about the threat Gandalf had brought up finished. Gandalf did not allow himself to be deterred for he himself had had a similar reaction when the necromancer had been first brought up to him by Radagast, the Brown.

He recalled the tale that the brown wizard had relayed to him:

" _The Greenwood is sick, Gandalf.", the raspy voice of Radagast addressed him, as the wizard looked around worriedly, seeing if anyone was overhearing their conversation. "A darkness has fallen over it. Nothing grows anymore." Gandalf moved closer to Radagast, as the other added darkly: "At least nothing good. The air is foul of decay, but worst are the webs." Gandalf straightened at that and questioned him: "Webs? What do you mean?" "Spiders, Gandalf.", Radagast responded with a sneer, exposing his yellow teeth and his nose was scrunched up in distaste, almost as if he had tasted something rotten. "Giant ones. I followed their trail, they came from Dol Guldur." He looked deeply into Radagast's azure eyes, willing to see any signs of deception within them, as he said: "Dol Guldur, but the old fortress is abandoned." He could see no such sign, though. All he saw was honesty and utter fear, as the brown wizard said firmly: "No, Gandalf. It is not."_

_Radagast then proceeded to tell him, how he had followed the giant spiders to Dol Guldur with his sleigh led by his band of roscabel rabbits and of how he had crossed the narrow stone bridge leading to the ruins of the old fortress of Dol Guldur, which had lain abandoned for decades upon decades. As soon, as he had entered the courtyard of the fortress which had been bathed in shade, even though he had arrived at Dol Guldur in the early afternoon, a desolate place where the once strong and imposing walls now lay in shambles and were overgrown with twisting vines, like snakes coiling around them and rotting trees, like carcases lay on the ground of the courtyard, he had felt a power darker than he had ever experienced. He could have only assumed that it was the shadow of an ancient horror. And as he had heard the cringing of stone from behind him and he had turned to see a hooded statue stirring and a fog rising from it, forming the nebulous silvery silhouette of an ancient warrior king, he knew that the horror had the power to summon spirits from the dead._

_Radagast told him of how the ghost of the king had fought him with a sword and when Radagast had defeated him by knocking him to the ground with his walking stick and the ghost had dissipated into fog, the sword had materialized at his feet. The same sword he now showed Gandalf as material proof of his words. Radagast had fled from the fortress, as quickly as his feet had been able to carry him, when in the corridor to his right he had seen the dark form of an individual. Behind the thorned vines stood the man who was the necromancer._

„And so I thought too, but Radagast has seen...", Gandalf tried to convice Saruman of this calamity his superior was not willing to recognize. „Radagast? Do not speak to me of Radagast, the Brown. He is a foolish fellow.", Saruman said with outrage and disapproval that such a person would even belong to his order.

„Well, he is odd. I will give you that. He lives a solitary life.", Gandalf tried to appease Saruman. „It's not that. It's his excessive consumption of mushrooms. They have addled his brain and yellowed his teeth.", Saruman continued, his outrage never waning.

Saruman continued to complain about the wizard Radagast, but Gandalf no longer paid any attention to his speech, as soon as he heard Lady Galadriel's distinctive voice in his head, as she adressed him privately: „You carry something with you. It came to you from Radagast. He found it in Dol Guldur." Gandalf could feel her silvery, wise gaze trained on his back and without turning back, he thought, willing her to hear it: „Yes!" „Show me!", she demanded and Gandalf could not deny her, especially as she seemed to be the only one, who was willing to heed his warning.

He brought forth the blade, which he had received from Radagast, which was currently wrapped in a leather fabric. He laid the packet on the table and Saruman's voice, which he had only perceived unconsciously, ceased. „What is that?", Lord Elrond asked gravely, surprised at its presence and he proceeded to unwrap the blade, as Lady Galadriel said: „A relic of Morgor."

Then the short sword of black steel lay before their eyes, openly. Lord Elrond retreated slightly from the table, as if the blade had burned him and he said: „A morgor blade." „Made for the witch king of Angmar. And... buried with him.", the Lady of Lorien added and then she looked at Gandalf disbelievingly, as she proceeded to recount the tale of the witch king of Angmar: „When Angmar fell, the man of the north took his body and all that he possessed and sealed it within the high fells. Deep into the rock they buried him, in a tomb so dark it would never come into the light." Lady Galadriel had seemed to grow increasingly distressed at the course of her tale, becoming convinced of the threat they were now under from the necromancer Gandalf had brought to their attention.

„That is not possible. A powerful spell was laid upon this tomb. It can not be opened.", Lord Elrond stated vehemently, still disbelieving of the relic that lay before him. „What proof do we have that this weapon came from Angmar's grave?", Saruman questioned, still sceptic and seemingly unwilling to recognize the threat that Gandalf warned him of. „I have none.", Gandalf stated. „Because there is none. Let us examine what we know. A single orc pack has dared to cross the borders of the Bruinen. A blade of a by-gone age has been found. A human sorcerer, who calls himself 'The Necromancer' has taken up residence in an abandoned fortress. It's not so very much after all.", Saruman said dismisivelly. Gandalf bowed his head, admitting defeat, knowing he would be unable to convince Saruman, while Lady Galadriel moved away to overlook the valley of Imlandris and the adjoining montainous terrain. „The quest of this dwarfish company, however, worries me deeply. I am not convinced, I do not believe I can condone such undertaking."

Lady Galadriel shifted her body, so that she was slightly facing Gandalf, when he once more heard her voice in her head, as she said in cognizance: „They are leaving." Out of the corner of his eyes, Gandalf looked at the Lady of Lorien, as her eyes widened a fraction of an inch and she stated accusingly, at seeing his nonchalance and his lack of surprise: „You knew." He raised his shoulders slightly, sheepishly and at his antics, the Lady Galadriel gave a small smile to her friend, before she returned her gaze to the landscape before her.

And at that moment Lindir arrived and informed Lord Elrond that the dwarves had gone.

* * *

„You will follow them." He stood before the Lady Galadriel at the balcony, surrounded by the plunging cliffs of Rivendell, after Lord Elrond and Saruman had left the chambers the council had taken place in. She had not questioned him, already knowing his decision, but he felt the need of answering nonetheless: „Yes." „You are right to help Thorin Oakenshield. But I fear this quest has set forth Forces we do not yet understand. The riddle of the Morgor Blade must be answered. Something moves in the shadows, unseen. It will not show itself in our sights. Not yet. But everyday it grows in strength. You must be careful.", Lady Galadriel admonished him and he nodded and then made to move away.

Yet when he had stepped off the balcony, he was stopped by her melodious voice: „Mithrandir, why the halfling and the half-elf?" He looked back at the Lady of Lorien, who seemed like a heavenly vision with the sun shining behind her like a golden, celestial halo around her form.

„I don't know.", he answered honestly. „Saruman believes that it is only great power that can hold it all in check. But that is not what I found. I found that it is the small things, everday deeds of ordinary folk that keeps the darkness at bay. Simple acts of kindness and love. Why, Bilbo Baggins? Perhaps it is because I am afraid and he gives me courage. And in this fading world, where those precise acts of love are waning and darkness rises every hour, I am hopeless. And Laurel Took gives me hope."

He felt her taking his hands into her own and he looked up, as she smiled beatifically at him and said: „Do not be afraid, Mithrandir. Have hope! You are not alone! If you should ever need my help, I will come." He bowed his head in gratitude. Then he felt her hands sliping from his and she was gone.


	19. She follows and treads on my dreams

_„HAD I the heavens' embroidered cloths, enwrought with golden and silver light, the blue and the dim and the dark cloths of night and light and the half-light, I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams." He wishes for the clothes of Heaven- William Butler Yeats_

_The young dwarf did not raise his head. He was so absorbed by the tale the book, that lay before him on the law wooden table, detailed that he did not perceive the sonorous 'thud' of the door, as it was shut after the entry of an elder looking dwarf. The young, dark-haired, focused dwarf only looked up with his features, that were still round with the softness of youth, when a dark, heavy shadow settled upon him. Disconcerted, with his heavy brows furrowed and his aquiline nose scrunched almost comically, the young dwarf looked up from the story that had ensnared and captured his infantile interest and looked upon the new arrival who had stationed himself between the chair the young dwarf was perched upon and the tall, imposing archway leading to a balcony that overlooked the vast, rocky plains below the Lonely Mountain; in its midst, from this distance miniscule in appearance was the city of Dale, which's bright and colorful markets would have to be bustling with activity at this time of day._

_As the young dwarf looked up and saw the impossing and sturdy silhouette of the individual stood before him, his grey-blue eyes widened momentarily with surprise, before he proceeded to rise, as quickly and with as much grace as he could muster to stand before the elder dwarf, a sight of solemnity and respect befitting the station his elder occupied._

_Eventhough he tried to keep his features cordially neutral the young dwarf could not conceal the glint of infantile delight that had sparked in his eyes the moment he had looked upon the sturdy, majestic form of the elder dwarf, clad befittingly in a heavy, flowing overcoat of white fur, making the man appear wider, bulkier and more imposing. His armour glinted golden beneath the heavy, unmarredly white layer. His features were weathered and hard, almost appearing to be made of stone in its severity. His eyes were of a pale blue that seemed faded, worn away with the long decades this dwarf had spent of this world. Eyes, hard and indifferent, that told of all he had experienced, the sights he had seen, a vast range of different landscapes. Sights that ranged from lush green, rolling downs to barren, deserteous wastelands. Landscapes of ethereal idyllicness to ones that almost seemed haunted in their desolation. His eyes told of diplomatic discussions, of fierce battles, of fields aglow with fire and bustling with a mass of writhing bodies of warriors, as they thrust and parried their weapons, moving in an intricate, almost synchronized choreography of violence, brutality, and of bloodshed. His pale, hard eyes spoke of the bloodshed he'd had to witness, of his loss of friends, loved ones and comrades._

_The young dwarf bowed lowly, in a gesture of respect, before righting himself and silently awaiting his elder to adress him. "What are you doing, Thorin?", the elder dwarf, who held himself in an intimidating and proud posture, befitting that of a mighty dwarf lord, asked._

_"I have been reading about the Cuivienyarna, the awakening of the elves, Gamul Khagam. The first three pairs of elves were awakened by Eru Illuvatar near the bay of Cuivienen during the year of the tree in the First Age.", said Thorin with a childlike pride, wishing to impress the man before him, whom he had a reverence to which only resembled the reverence held towards idols._

_Yet, the elder dwarf seemed just as indifferent, as he had looked previously, unaffected by his grandson's antics, which would have brightened the darkened demeanour of any grandfather with the affection generally Held for their legacy. With his dark, raspy voice, the elder dwarf asked Thorin, as he looked upon him, with slight disapproval, which was not missed by Thorin, who cringed in response to his grandfather's expression: "Do you believe this is a wise use of your time, Thorin? Reading about elves and daydreaming? Do you believe that this is what is expected of the crown prince?"_

_Thorin visibly deflated at his grandfather's words and at the fact that his acquired knowledge had not impressed the man, who was his idol, as he had hoped. The young, dark-haired dwarf looked down, properly castigated and shuffled on his feet. "I asked you a question, my boy.", the dwarf lord stated, his voice as sharp as a knife's edge, undertones of irritation clearly audible. Alarm spread itself in Thorin's grey-blue orbs, which at this time had held an innocence, which would be weathered away and diminished in the decades following as time and life passed him by, bestowing upon him a fate that was shameful to all royalty. Thorin's eyes at this time did not contain his bitterness and the burden, which would fall upon him; yet had he known the events that were yet to come in the future his eyes would not be as untroubled. They would not be as carefree as they seemed now and as calm as the spring morning sea, save for the glee of youth that all infants held at his current age._

_"No, Ghamul Kagam.", Thorin muttered lowly, looking at the wooden floor beneath his booted feet, refusing to meet his grandfather's eyes, fearing he would only vex the elder man further. There was no audible or visible response, as the bearded, silver-haired dwarf looked down at his kin holding himself tall and his posture unrelenting, resembling the rocky, imposing mountain that was his domain. His expression did not change and any other would have assumed the dwarven lord to have been a statue, for his unreadable expression remained on his face stubbornly, almost inhumanly, as the dwarf stood before his grandson, who as of yet possessed none of his grandfather's lack of passivity and aloofness._

_"But, I thought that, perhaps, it would have been wise to inform myself about the elvish culture, as the envoys from Green wood and Lothlorien are arriving in a fortnight for the council.", Thorin stated with more confidence, raising his gaze slightly, wishing to justify his actions and his interest, still intent on not gathering his grandfather's disapproval. Yet the young, dwarven prince had not achieved the desired effect. The invulnerable, proud dwarf lord's stone-mask dissolved, although not in anemity, but in a contemptuous sneer and it appeared, as if he had been deeply offended at his grandson's word._

_His voice remained steady and almost menacingly calm, as he stated, never relinquishing his cool demeanour and his tightly-reined composure: "Do not waste any of your thoughts on those... creatures. They are hardly worth any efforts." Thorin had recognized his grandfather's veiled contempt toward these creatures, recognizing from the thin, hard lines his thin lips had formed and from the momentary glint in his pale, blue orbs that the elder dwarf was conversing with him about something he intensely disliked._

_The young dwarf prince had appearantly gathered his courage and looked up at his grandfather fully, who was a good few inches taller than him. From the inquisitive look in his grey-blue eyes and the slight furrowing of his heavy brows, it was easy to see that Thorin's curiosity had been piqued at his grandfather's words and he asked: "Why? Why is the relationship between elves and dwarves so strained, Gamul Khagam?" The grudge dwarves and elves held toward each other was common kowledge, especially as this hostility had been passed down from generation to generation, with dwarven parents inducing prejudice against elves in their children._

_"They accuse us of the very thing they are guilty of, when their king refused to give us what had been promised to us and was rightfully ours: theft.", the mighty dwarf lord spat, the anger in his pale, blue eyes becoming increasingly more pronounced, as he recalled the events that had caused the strife between the two races, remembering how King Thingol Greycloak of Beleriand had bargained with the dwarves to shape his raw gold and silver, but then had deprived them of their pay in his fierce gread and avaricious insanity._

_Thorin looked up at his grandfather slightly surprised at his loss of composure, seeing his grandfather display more emotion than ever before. He did not consciously take note of it, but at this moment a kernel of resentment had become implanted in him. He had unconsciously adopted his grandfather's prejudice and resentment toward the individuals of the race he had never met. Yet this did not deter Thorin for he thought his grandfather to be the greatest and mightiest leader of Middle Earth, someone he looked up to and aspired to become, he would have done anything to even closely resemble Thror, king under the mountain._

_Thror had been glaring off into the distance, his nostrils slightly flaring. Then he seemed to remember himself and within instances, his cool mask had been returned to its rightful place and he looked down at his nephew once more impassively, before stating with utter surety, which could only be acquired by the most confident and rightful of leaders, something that Thorin had always took note of and admired in his grandfather: "I do not wish to hear anymore reports from Balin, that you have disregarded your lessons and instructions in favor of those silly stories, my boy. How do you hope to be worthy of sitting on the throne of Erebor, beneath the Arkenstone, if you do not take your responsibilities seriously? Do I make myself clear, Thorin?" "Yes, Gamul Khagam.", Thorin muttered, slightly grudgingly, for he loved his old books detailing the most fantastical tales of bravery and of Middle Earth's history. Yet he did not wish to disappoint nor defy his grandfather._

_Thror nodded slightly and his hard lips quirked up an inch into a semi-smile, before the dwarf Lord stated: "That is good. Now... I intend to descend deep into the mountain to inspect the yield of the mine workers. Do you wish to accompany me?" Thorin visibly brightened and nodded his head eagerly. He followed his grandfather, as he exited the chambers in direction of the mines, containing Erebor's precious rocks and gems._

_The book lay forgotten on the table and so it would remain for the decades to come._

* * *

Laurel opened her eyes and was met with the sight of Rivendell as she looked out the tall, arched doorway leading to the balcony. Rivendell was still beatiful without a doubt, especially now as she saw the early morning sun, which was not brightly and blindingly yellow at this time of day, but rose in a warm, orange, pink hue far off in the eastern horizon and coloured the statuesque structures of marble in that same warm shade. The stone of the structures glinted as the light of this heavenly body hit it in a particular manner. The sky was unmarred by any cloud or other unseemly obstruction and was of a pure shade of blue, only alternating to a light purple in vicinity of the rising sun. She had never seen such a start of the day in all her years in the Shire, usually when she awoke the sun was already of a bright yellow colour and already stood high in the sky, though it was still early morning, and illuminated all structures beneath it, so that they reflected the light most brightly. Never had she seen forests bathed in the shade the tall towers of Rivendell threw, as she did now. It was a glorious sight and normally she would have treasured it, but, try as she might, she could not value the landscape before her properly.

She had awoken this morning on a soft, feathery bed and she should have been happy, because since she had joined Thorin's quest and had had to sleep on the cold forest floor, she had longed to be in a proper bed once more. Yet she had awoken in a warm bed, that was too soft for her, she had longed for the dawn's dew laying lightly on her brow and she had missed the early morning symphony of the forest larks, as they awoke with the dormant forest. She had missed the slight soreness of her back, and the sounds of the dwarves as they too awoke and started to gather themselvees for the new day. That all had been missing this morning and she never knew that she would have missed these things so greatly. She had never expected the feeling of yearning that coursed through her, how she longed to awaken her cousin and tease him for his disheveled and slightly drowsy appearance, as he had still not become accostumed to his temporary sleeping arrangements, how she missed the sound of the dwarves' conversation around her as they packed up their things and saddled their ponies, she longed for her wondering with which of the Brothers she would ride today.

But... None of this would happen on this morning and she feared neither on any of the mornings to come. She lay in a soft, warm bed in a spacious chamber, overlooking the elvish structures of Rivendell, a sight her mother had surely gazed and wondered at many times during her life, and she was utterly alone, because Bilbo had already left and with him the Company and...  _him._

She should hate him, for how he had treated her last night, at his mistreatment of her when she had never given him a reason to doubt her. She should hate him, because he had behaved exactly as she had expected and dreaded him to, that he had proven her worst assumptions about him correct. She should hate him, because he had shown her that he would disregard anything, any loyalty she had demonstrated to him because she was an elf. Because anything and everything she did would worthless in his eyes, because her mother had been an elf. She should hate him, because he had proven to be as prejudiced and stubborn, as she had believed him to be. She should hate him, because he hated her.

Yet, she could not. She had not been able to hate him last night when he had called her a deceiving wench. When he had grasped her arms so tightly, that his fingers had dug into her skin and would surely bruise her and he had hissed into her face. When he had let go off her, repulsed, like she disgusted him and he could not stand to be close to her. When he had disregarded any explanation she had offered him and had proven himself to be a hyprocrite. When he had expelled her from the company and banned her from the quest and had ignored her pleading. When he had turned from her, pushed her away and hurt her more than she had thought possible. She should have hated him, especially after she had discovered truly how much power he had over her, when she realized how not indifferent she was to him.

She could not hate him, especially after her dream, especially as the emerald gem still glew hot on her chest as a reminder of her nightly vision. How could she hate him after witnessing his infantile glee at the book he had read and his childlike curiosity at the tale? How could she hate him after seeing the young Thorin Oakenshield straightening his spine and deepening his voice, while telling his grandfather of the story he had read, wishing to impress him? How could she hate him, when she had been submerged in tenderness at the sight? How could she hate him after having seen how vulnerable he had stood before his grandfather and how every emotion that he felt had been so clearly written on his young Features and how human and alive he had seemed compared to his grandfather, a long time ago, _so long ago_ , when she had not even lived? How could she hate him after having seen how his grandfather's disappointment in him had pained him so greatly? How could she hate him after having seen the innocence in his eyes, when he had still been a child?

The previous dreams she'd had about the exiled king had all depicted impacting and poignant moments in his life, mainly the loss of Erebor, a vision that had replayed itself so frequently in her mind, that she could recall the fire smoke from the mountain, the shadow of fire in the night sky and the smell of smoke in the early morning dawn as it stood out against the smell of the dew from the pines. She remembered the roaring of the fire and the swooshing of leather wings and the defeaning sounds of explosion; almost like she had been there herself to experience this, the day he had lost everything and when his life had become a cluster of bitter days, as he longed for all that had been cruelly ripped from his grasp, while he fumed in what he described as "poor lodgings in exile".

At first glance, this scene of his childhood would not seem poignant or worthy of mention in any way. Not compared to the other dreams she'd had, where she experienced losses, which had impacted Thorin deeply, the loss of his home and the loss of his grandfather, the man Thorin had idolized and loved above all else. So this vision of Thorin being scolded as a young child would not seem important in any way, but she knew better. Because she had recognized it for what it was. She had realized what this moment had been. She had realized that this was the moment, Thorin had lost his childhood innocence, that it had been the moment he had shed his youth at a too young Age and had started to become this painfully serious and responsible man he was today.

She could never hate him, not when she knew... she understood why he was as he was today. She could never hate him, because how could she hate one that she had admired and yearned for, for so long?

She screwed her eyes shut cursing the injustice of fate. Cursing the fact that the man in her dreams was him. No, not cursing the fact that it was him, but that he hated her, that he had been bound to hate her, to despise her for her crimes of birth, that he would never regard her in the same, almost affectionate manner that she did him.

Eventhough she had only woken up, she still found herself listless and tired, the events of yesterday, the orcs' chase, her injury, her and Thorin's confrontation, still exhausting her. She closed her eyes, her fatigue rendering her drowsy. And she felt forlorn, a feeling that was previously unbeknownst to her, as she had always retained faith and hope in the face of even the worst situations. She kept her eyes closed and she only longed to sleep.

"Do not lose hope, do not give up, elandili.", she heard a lilting, melodic female voice ring through her thoughts and immediately, she sat up alarmed and looked around the room frantically, searching for the source of the voice. She felt goosebumps spread down her arms, as she perceived her solitary state and she proceeded to cradle her head in her arms, her knees drawn up, fearing for her sanity. "You must not abandon this quest... nor Thorin Oakenshield, poikaer. Do not lose hope. Do not question. All shall be revealead soon." She let the voice wash over her, with its warm pitch and though she knew it to be ludicrous, she felt soothed by the softly accented words and the tender way it spoke to her.

Before she ponder on the absurdity of her reaction to the voice, the door to her chamber opened and a slightly flustered grey wizard entered and proceeded to usher her out of bed, ranting hurriedly that 'she had to get dressed and leave immediately, as the dwarves and Bilbo had already left and she would fall too far behind.' She looked at Gandalf unhappily and stated: "You do not know. I am to remain in Rivendell. Thorin Oakenshield has ordered it so." Gandalf looked at her and shook his head slightly, before stating: "Do not be silly, my dear Girl. You are still under contract and so you must fulfill that which you have agreed to. And you will not be able to do so, if Lord Elrond or Saruman find you. You need to leave, now." "He has discovered that I am of elvish descent. He has prohibited my continued presence in his company. I must respect his wishes, no matter how much it pains me to do so.", she had whispered the last part and was looking down at the white blanket beneath her, her arms around her drawn knees.

She could hear the disappointment in Gandalf's voice, and it only caused her to cringe, as he said: "This is not the child of Benji and Elauriel Took, the fiercest and most headstrong individuals of their race. This is not the girl, who only a short time ago, admonished the king under the mountain for his lack of manners and courtesy." "It is his quest, Gandalf. We must respect his wishes.", she stated vehemently, though she longed to run after the company, but could not gather the courage to do so. She heard Gandalf huff exasperatedly and he said, with annoyance: "His pride shall be his downfall. Thorin Oakenshield is a stubborn dwarf, who does not know what he truly wants and what is good for him."

Any objections on her part were quickly and effectively cut off, as the wizard hoisted her to her feet and proceeded to urge her to pack her things and get ready to leave, not allowing her any further thought on how she would be received by the dwarves.

Yet she also felt her old determination and fire return to her, which caused her to refuse abandoning the quest that she had compromised to and it only rose within her, as she exited her room, Rivendell and climbed up the narrow paths of the steep cliffs, which lined Rivendell.

She was restored to her old spirits, having decided to forgo her early melancholy, when she saw the forms of the dwarves from the company and she started to run toward them, with a courage she did not where she had summoned from and she called out: "Wait!". The first to turn toward her was Bilbo, but then all came to a stop, as she joined their dompany and looked at them, disregarding any dark and contemptuous glare that the majority of the dwarves were sending her way. She had faltered at first, when she had practically felt their hostility toward her, but then she had looked at her cousin and had felt his genuine joy at her presence and she had been reassured.

She drew confidence from Bilbo, as she saw Thorin approach her angrily and as he towered her and snapped: "I thought I told you to remain in Rivendell." "Yes, but I have chosen to disobey you.", she stated and raised the pointed tip of her nose high into the air, as she looked up at him. "I have signed a contract. I will set out to fulfill that what I have agreed to. I will help you.", she stated confidently. He glared at her, and spat: "I need not the help of an elf." There were confirmative exclamations from other members of the company, but she was deaf to them. He turned around, deeming the discussion finished and effictively dismissing her. She smirked at him, though he could not see her, but hoping nonetheless that he would know she was doing this. "That is too bad, because you are stuck with me now. I have promised to help. I have given you my word.", she stated proudly. Knowing she had not achieved anything with her words yet, that she had not changed his opinion in the slightest, she confessed in a soft voice, a broken promise laced in her words: "Thorin, wherever you lead I shall follow." And then an affection, she did not she possessed to such extent for the dwarven king seeped into her words, as she declared: "I would follow you anywhere."

There was no response from him. He gave no outward sign that he had heard her words, except that he stood rooted to the spot for a few seconds longer than necessary. But then he moved, he went onwards and his company followed him, as did she.

He said nothing, as she moved onwards with them, leaving behind Rivendell, which grew increasingly smaller in the horizon. He said nothing, though he knew of her presence, and at this moment that was enough for her.

* * *

**Translations:**

**Khuzdul: Gamul Khagam: Grandfather**

**Elvish (Quenya): elandili- half elf**

**poikaer- pure one**

**So, in summary of this update. White council: Saruman being the evil douche we all knew he was, Necromancer and Gandalf finally explains to Lady Galadriel, why he wanted Bilbo and Laurel on this quest. Laurel dreams of Thorin as a young child and gets a bigger insight to him. After Gandalf's insistence she decides to go after the company and stubbornly refuses to accept Thorin's expulsion of her.**

**I decided to give you guys two chapters this update, since the last chapter was so short and was actually kind of a filler. So here ya go. As always, I thank anyone who has reviewed, favorited or followed and I thank you for your kind words. Please take a few seconds to write me just some words or a few lines telling me how I'm doing, or even telling me how you want the story to proceed. I have a pretty fixed idea plot-wise, but your input is always taken into consideration.**

**The question of the week will be replaced by a poll, so:**

**POTW: What do you think of Laurel's insistence with going on the quest?**

**1) You go, girl. Thorin needs to stop being so goddarned stubborn and get off his high horse.**

**2) Stubborn, almost borderline annoying and obsessive. She should go back to Rivendell and get together with some elf-person (but not Lindir, because he kinda freaks me out)**

**3) I dunno know.**


End file.
